Harold Holmes and the Case of the Stone
by Jonn Wolfe
Summary: Potterlock: A case forces Sherlock to face his past and his family, when a child apperates in front of him before a house goes up in flames. Adopting the lad against his better judgement, he learns more about himself than he thought possible. Years later, after bringing an ex-army doctor under his protection, he must stand aside and watch as his son joins Hogwarts. Harmonie.
1. Predictable and Dull

_**"HP: Potterlock" AU  
'The Case of the Stone'  
**__Chapter One  
- Predictable and Dull -_

* * *

_**A/N:** I don't own squat. That mad woman who does paired the dumbest character with the smartest, and left the hero with the stalker. Sorry Lady, but that was pretty stupid. _

_The wanker that brought a detective to the 21st century struck gold, then bombed spectacularly when he took over Doctor Who. Regardless, I don't own that universe either._

_Timescale is shifted forward ten years for HP, and back around ten for Sherlock. So, expect to see modern (ish) conveniences like mobiles, Google, and the Millennium Bridge… amongst other things. Pop culture will be easier for everyone involved, including me. First year is 2001, for the record. _

_Second foray into Potterverse, but first for Sherlock. Hopefully I'll be able to portray the genius. May be a bit of a softer touch, but still evoke the 'piss off' response in most people._

_Harmonie._

_Yes, this distracted me from Chaos. I'll probably bounce back and forth between them. Numbers ground to a halt, but Converge and River Run will continue before the holiday. Promise._

* * *

As cases went, this one was rather dull. Typical domestic aggression that led to abuse, which eventually led to an explosion. _That was the interesting part._ However, it did chase away the boredom. Then, there were those… _people_… if you could call them as such. Honestly, it was a wonder they could even breed, what with their tendencies for malicious OCD behaviour. It was disgusting.

If it wasn't for Lestrade's son, it wouldn't have even been a ripple in Sherlock's head space. Mostly, he was diving into the new world of the internet. It was intriguing and fascinating how what used to be something for Universities was now being made available to the masses.

Then Lestrade brought a simple abuse case to him that was completely unprovable. To him, at least. To Sherlock, it was as simple as ABC. Pedestrian to the point of mind numbing that induced drool, with a possible head twitch to make it fun. When he found the amount of people that had evidence of being obliviated, he got his brother involved. It was regrettable, but Mycroft did have the better connections.

The computer next to him on his desk was rather large to his mind, and more often he wondered how long technology would parse it down to a manageable level. Desk space was a premium. If he could discover a way to marry the infernal contraption to the DynaTAC mobile, _and there was an ironic misnomer_, then he could spend most of his time on what he wanted – which was not to worry about silly things like money and food, and focus his attention on discovering things. Patents Paid.

_That was a rather good idea… File that one for later._

Sitting in his rocker in the middle of the flat – Sherlock had his elbows on the armrests, with his hands pressed together under his chin in a mock prayer pose – idly rocking and watching the small boy sleeping on his couch. The lad was horribly underfed, reminding him of his own rather interesting childhood.

Eldest of his two brothers, Mycroft was the epitome of class and style. Quite the proper pure-blood, he was the wizarding contact for the muggle government and a proper pain in the backside when concerning his youngest brother. Just because a wand didn't do much for him in the beginning didn't mean he was incompetent!

_Besides, I can out-think him without even trying. Prissy bastard._

It didn't help that his other brother was the youngest potions master in decades. Nor was it his fault that the man's father hated anything to do with magic. The last thing that wasn't his fault, was that his mother went back to her first husband after a near fatal beating.

Needless to say: They didn't get along.

The healers blamed that beating for him being born a so-called-squib, but that didn't mean he was left out in the cold like so many had before. The House of Holmes recognized the necessity of bridging the magical and non-magical worlds. Oddly enough, the non-magical was more financially stable, even with the more favourable interest rates at Gringotts. Of course, father wanted him to go into the stock market. _Please_.

This of course meant that their relationship with the Greengrass family was justified, if somewhat distant. They called it an 'economic alliance', but that was mostly as far as it went. Mycroft had to take over the family business when their parents were 'accidentally' killed in the eighties. Fortunately, he was able to juggle his time between MI6's M-Division and the Wizangamot. That made him the centre of attention amongst the so called neutral families.

He wanted nothing to do with that backward, myopic, pedestrian infighting. Too dull and predictable for his taste. It was just as well that he 'wasn't' magically inclined. He knew enough to get by, as he was a rather late bloomer. His forays into Diagon and Hogsmeade went unnoticed – which was how he liked it. Butterbeer and firewhisky were superior to the swill that permeated most pubs after all.

Knockturn had a rather nice wand crafter. The built in charm that made his ebony and griffon tail wand appear to be a muggle collapsible pointer made his life _so much easier_.

Of _course_ he knew the lad that was currently napping fitfully on his couch. You couldn't wave a simple stick and hit a wizard or witch who _didn't_ know him. The scar was the telling clue, which was interesting in itself. No one was there when it happened, and yet everyone knew what it looked like? Not to mention, why the devil did it still look fresh?

The only good thing about his eldest brother, was that he ensured that his flat was properly warded. It was an interesting blend of runic symbolism that came from both of the Americas and the Far East, and completely marred the Ministry from finding out about his questionable abilities. Only thing missing was muggle repelling and active defences.

He'd probably regret the latter later. _Make another note to look into that._

It was a shame that the whale and the equine were obliterated in that blast. He would love nothing more than… _No, that was Severus' way of thinking. Avoid at all costs or have a seizure. _

His investigations into the case came to an abrupt halt, when the boy teleported (_Yes, yes. __Apperated__. Shut up._) in front of him a split second before the house erupted in flames. Fortunately, he himself learned that art a few years ago, and removed the boy before the Aurors arrived.

_Looks like I'll have to give up smoking, and that gum is _nasty_. Time to distil some nicotine._

At least he didn't have to deal with the whalespawn. An orphanage would force that spoiled brat to act human. Maybe.

Only one problem with all of this – well, _two_. The first was putting up with Mycroft more often. The second was admitting that he now had two people under his protection. Admittedly, Mrs. Hudson (_an actual squib_) was more likely to make dinner now with young Harry… Now there was something else that bothered him. Who names a child a _nickname_?

This meant another call to Mycroft to investigate something else… _Brilliant_. Being listed as a squib … wait. That was a _Ministry_ definition. St. Mungos was out as well, so yes. Gringotts it is.

Donning his coat, Sherlock went down the stairs in a bit of a dash. "Mrs. Hudson! I need to go to the bank. Can you watch Harry for a couple of hours? Yes? Brilliant!"

* * *

_**Seven Years Later**_

John wasn't sure what to make of all this. Standing there and watching, while Sherlock and Harold embraced for the third time in front of that rather backward steam engine. _How do they hide something that red?_ Still, that wasn't what had him confounded.

Yes, magic was real. That much was readily apparent after dealing with that Moriarty psychopath. But, an entire sub-culture devoted to nothing but magic? It was mind boggling!

However, it did make sense now that he thought about it. Harold was just as bright as his father, and they _still_ wouldn't tell him who his mother was. Mycroft and Sherlock both had blue eyes, but Harold's were so green that it wasn't natural.

That aside, the way the lad seemed to read people was even more upsetting than when Sherlock did it. '_Don't depend on that,' _Sherlock would often say rather snappishly. _'There are people that can defend against it, so what do we do?'_

_'Observe everything,'_ Harold responded instantly, _'deduce the situation from the facts presented, before drawing any conclusion.'_

_'Excellent.'_

It didn't make sense until he found out that the lad was _actually_ _reading_ people. It took a week for them to convince him that Harold wouldn't do that to him, unless he was being a stubborn prat. Which was a lot of the time, now that he thought about it. Catching the grin on Harold's face when he thought of that just made him even more frustrated with himself _and_ them.

The two were infuriating, yet exceedingly brilliant all at once. He about shat himself laughing the first time he heard Andersen telling Harold to piss off. The matching eye-roll between father and son was comical to watch, and said it all to whomever saw it. Yes, they were arrogant, but they were right more often than not, so it was warranted. Not that people appreciated it.

John was doing his best to impress upon the lad the need for toning it down. It just wouldn't do to aggravate people all the time. It especially wouldn't endear himself to any girl he fancied. That got another and more _emphatic_ eye-roll.

Honestly, he wasn't sure if he stayed with them due to how they dealt with things, or whether it was to ensure that he was in their good graces. It was _frightening_ how they interacted. More often than not, it was completely without words.

What sealed the deal with him sharing their flat, was when it was invaded. Their reactions to Mrs. Hudson being struck was _vicious_. Out of the five men in the room, only one survived to live another day. Not that it mattered. He didn't make it out of the hospital.

What made it worse, wasn't the fact that Sherlock killed them in front of his son. It was that Harold was the one that fought back _first,_ and was just as violent. It was disturbing how they argued over which of them actually got the most. Then again, it _was_ Mrs. Hudson they were defending. Or was that avenging? Regardless, the argument over the tally was positively macabre.

_'That's bad, isn't it?'_ Sherlock commented at John's upturned brow.

_'Yes. Yes it is,'_ John replied. _'Especially for him,'_ he said while looking at Harold.

The one thing they _hadn't_ topped, was when Irene Adler was shocked into silence over appearing nude in front of a _ten year old_. Harold's rather petulant, _'Oh, _do_ put something on before we have you arrested for indecent exposure to a minor,'_ had her out in a hurry after the blush radiated down to her rather pointed nipples.

_'By the way, nice backside. The front isn't that bad either, but I'm far to young for such a thing. May look you up in a few years, though!' _

The incessant giggling over that one didn't stop for a quarter of an hour.

The whole Moriarty Nightmare had him raging at the pair for _weeks_. One, for having Harold ensure that the man was dead. Two, for not telling him that Sherlock could bloody _teleport_.

_'So, you basically jaunted from behind the bus to the ground?'_

_'With a split second pit stop home first, yes. Also, nice reference to the Tomorrow People. Hadn't thought of that one.'_

_'One of my favourite programmes as a child. And the blood?'_

_'Splinched myself.'_

_'Told you that would happen,'_ Harold interjected.

_'Yes, but it made it all the more real, yes?'_

_'You didn't have a pulse!'_ John sputtered._  
_

Harold grinned._ 'Rubber ball in his pit. Cut off the circulation.'_

_'Both of you are COM_PLETE_ BASTARDS!'_

_'He really does care, doesn't he dad?'_

_'One would think so. However, it's so amusing to see his brain spin. Isn't it?'_

_'STOP SMIRKING! BOTH OF YOU!'_

"You have everything?" Sherlock's dulcet tones murmured into his son's hair, bringing John to the present.

Harold nodded. "Everything, including the solar charger for my mobile."

"I still don't know how that works," John groused. "My phone self destructed in the alley."

"American Ministry Made," Harold said quietly as he let go of his father. "The sat phone is shielded."

"Ah."

"Best go and find a suitable compartment," Sherlock said, prompting the boy. "Wouldn't want you to have to sit in the corridor for the whole trip."

"I still don't understand why we don't simply _floo_ to Hogsmeade," Harold muttered.

Sherlock smirked. "Tradition."

"Wonderful," Harold grumbled. "The more things change, the more things stay the same. It's a wonder Britain isn't a laughing stock of the ICW."

Sherlock ruffled Harold's shoulder length, black hair. "Who says we aren't?"

John was surprised with Harold's brief hug, and smiled. "Keep yourself out of trouble, and call whenever you can."

It was Harold's turn to smirk. "I'm completely innocent. Trouble just seems to follow me around like a lost puppy."

"Likely story," John said, chuckling.

"Don't worry. I'll send lots of pictures," Harold said with a genuine smile. "Bye, John. Bye, Dad."

John eyed his friend from the side when Harold disappeared into the train. "Getting sentimental in your old age, Sherlock?"

"Shut up. He's my son."

"Right. Sorry."

* * *

Coming into the train, Harold was impressed with how new something this old appeared. Wood panelling, nice carpets, it was a throwback to the early days of industrialization. There weren't any nicks in the wood, nor ratty spots in the carpets either. He supposed the house elves of Hogwarts serviced it daily.

He found an open compartment with a boy and a girl sitting on opposite sides. The boy was holding on to a toad as if it would get away at any moment. The girl was reading _Hogwarts: A History_ while biting her lower lip. Liking the even odds, what with the apparent pure-blood tolerating an obvious non-magical-born, he rapped his knuckles on the door frame. "Mind another?"

The boy and girl looked up to appraise the new arrival. The girl looked to be overly excited and nervous, while the boy looked positively petrified. Of what, he could hardly guess. "Harold Holmes," he said, bowing slightly.

"Sure. There's plenty enough room," the boy said. "Neville Longbottom." The boy eyed the embroidered crest on Harold's robes and blanched. "Potter?" He looked up at him. "Harry Potter?"

"I don't prefer that name, but yes," Harold said with a grimace, as he sat down a bit away from the girl and across from Neville. Looking down at his family crest, he ran his fingertip over it and caused it to fade – chastising himself for forgetting to use the built in charm.

"I read all about you," the girl said with wide eyes. "Oh! Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Harold smiled and kissed her offered hand, which caused a rather pleasant looking flush across her cheeks. "Pleasure's mine, my dear. However, if you've read anything about me, the only book to get even close is _'The Rise and Fall of Dark Lords of the Twentieth Century.'_ The rest is pure fiction that I'm currently in litigation with the publishers for the rights of. Apparently, they assumed I wouldn't mind if they used my name and not pay me a knut in licensing fees."

Neville looked impressed. Hermione looked betrayed. "None of that's true? Wait. Of course it's not. An eight year old fighting dragons. _Oh_, I should've known."

"Don't feel too bad," Neville said. "Most of the wizarding world believes anything printed about The-Boy-Who-Lived."

Harold closed his eyes into a cringe. "I _hate_ that name." Seeing their looks of confusion when he opened his eyes, he explained. "Imagine for a moment, what that really signifies and expand the title to: The-Boy-Who-Lived-Because-His-Parents-Died."

Understandably, both of them flinched and apologized. "It's all right. Most people don't think that part through."

"So, you didn't grow up in a castle?" Hermione asked.

Harold snorted. "Hardly! I live in a flat with my dad in London."

"So, the robes are new then?" Neville asked, waving his fingers at his outfit. Harold nodded. "No scar either, I see."

"Glasses either," Hermione commented after Harold lifted his hair to show his bare forehead.

"Nope," Harold shook his head. "Wonderful beings, the Goblins. They healed my scar and my eyes all in one go. Hurt like the devil, but I have somewhat better than normal vision now."

"Why'd it hurt?" Hermione asked. "Didn't they sedate you or anything?"

Harold looked at either of them, then the door – which he closed. A muttering and quick wand motion silenced the room, impressing both of them. "According to the fiction, it's a curse scar, yes?" They both nodded. "It wasn't. There was a bit of so-dark-it-might-as-well-have-been-black magic centred in the scar. The twit bastard that left me with my now late aunt didn't even check to see if anything was wrong with it."

He blinked a bit, remembering. "The goblin healers did a ritual that removed that bit of dark mojo. They fixed my eyes afterwards, and corrected the methanol poisoning that messed them up in the first place."

"Methanol poisoning?" Hermione blurted. "How old were you?"

"Four," Harold said without inflection and a flat voice, "on purpose by my aunt and uncle."

"I don't understand," Neville said.

Blinking rapidly, Hermione forced herself to look at Neville while wiping her face. "Methanol is alcohol distilled from wood. Normally it's used to disinfect cuts and whatnot. While it will intoxicate you, it also poisons you. It will lead to blindness in certain amounts, and at the worst kill you."

"Why would they do that?" Neville sputtered, appalled at such a thing.

"They… didn't like me and _hated_ magic," Harold whispered. "May we please talk about something else?"

Shaken out of their state of shock, Neville nodded while Hermione slid over and hugged Harold from the side. "Of course! You have someone now, though, right? I mean, from the name Holmes and the mention of a dad, that would mean you were adopted?" The relieved smile and head nod made some rather uncomfortable floppy motions in her stomach. She let go and flushed again. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be so forward."

"S'allright. I like hugs," Harold said with a grin. He was completely amused at how the littlest of smiles would make this girl flush so spectacularly.

He couldn't help it, but he felt out with his mind to see what they were thinking. Hermione was appalled at his treatment, yet completely enamoured with his eyes and smile. There was the bitter sting of the betrayal of books, but it was fading rapidly.

Neville was a bit muted, _must have been trained in occlumency_, but he was equally disturbed. And there was something else. Looking at him, Harold was startled. "Longbottom, as in the son of Frank and Alice?"

The boy frowned and nodded. "Yes."

"Your mother was my godmother," Harold said with a smile.

Neville looked relieved. "And your mother was my godmother."

A look of confusion went over Harold's face. "Does that make us godbrothers? I never fully understood how that worked, but I would've liked to have had a brother."

"Kismet," Hermione said quietly, confusing the both of them. "It means fated." Harold nodded, making her grin, but Neville shook his head, not getting it. "You two don't know each other, meet on the train, and both your mothers named the other godmother. Coincidence?"

"I don't believe in coincidence," Harold said automatically. It was something that his father instilled into him for six years. "I did feel a bit pulled to this compartment though. Not sure why. Maybe we three were supposed to meet? Not sure I believe that, but I like the result. Dad would lecture for hours how coincidences were evidence in disguise, though."

"Why's that?" Hermione asked. "What's he do for a living?"

"He's a consultant detective," Harold grinned.

Neville looked confused again, but Hermione's eyes popped open wide. "You don't happen to live with Dr. Watson, do you?"

"Read the blog, did you?" Harold countered.

Hermione nodded with a large smile. "Your adopted father is _Sherlock Holmes_? I'm so jealous! I've referenced his work in a lot of my theorems!" She looked to the confused Neville. "Sherlock Holmes is a legend in the muggle auror community."

"That's one way to put it," Harold scoffed with an eye-roll. "Honestly, we get told off more often than anything else. The most common phrase is either 'He's a right bastard' or 'piss off'."

"You've been on cases with him?" Hermione asked. "Which ones?"

Harold nodded while texting. _Met two nice people. Believe it or not, I just met Neville Longbottom. Small world. The other seems to be a fan of yours. Just as well. After being told that the whole book line was nothing but fiction, she seemed to warm up. Told a bit of truth. Expect a letter from the Dowager Longbottom. I have a feeling that Neville is just as upset as you were about my relatives. [Photo Attachments] HH_

"Yeah. Using the blog references, I've been with dad on 'The Geek Interpreter', 'The Speckled Blonde', 'By Royal Appointment' and the follow-up of 'The Woman', plus a few others," he paused, thinking. My least favourite was dealing with Moriarty. Now that was one brilliant psychopath. Makes Voldemort look like a simple thug with a gun – or wand in this case."

Neville shuddered. But much to his surprise, Hermione didn't even flinch at the name. "I will _never_ understand wizards and witches who are afraid of a made up name. Did you know that if you translate it from French it means…"

"Fleeing Death," Hermione interrupted, making Harold smile again.

"Parlez vous français?" Harold asked with a wide grin. {_You speak French?_}

Hermione matched the grin with a wide smile. "Oui, je le fais. Comment êtes-vous couramment?" {_Yes, I do. How fluent are you?_}

Harold's eyes were sparking now. "Je parle couramment plusieurs langues. Français, italien et espagnol. Je suis étudiant en allemand, en latin et en grec aussi bien." {_I'm fluent in several languages. French, Italian, and Spanish. I'm studying German, Latin, and Greek as well._}

"While I speak French, I'm obviously not as good as either of you," Neville interrupted. "Could we please continue in the Queen's English?"

"Sorry," they both chorused.

Harold's mobile chimed. _Oh wonderful. Augusta is worse than Mycroft. Well, at least you found some people that will see beyond that horrid stereotype. I still have people coming up to me wearing those ridiculous hats. Neville seems to be well fed. The girl could use some conditioner or tie her hair back, but who am I to judge? Have a safe trip, son. SH_

"How does that even work here?" Hermione said, trying not to read the bit about the conditioner and failing miserably. She hated how her hair REFUSED to cooperate.

"It's shielded." Noticing how close she was, and her downtrodden expression, Harold quickly pocketed the mobile. Being his father's 'translator' for so long, this part was completely automatic. "Uhm. Don't take anything dad says personally. He doesn't view things the same way as most people. Honestly, to him – if your hair is the only thing he mentioned – well… it means that's the only fault he found. It's actually a mishandled compliment that meant to say that you're pretty. I think so too."

Hermione looked up completely startled, and became fixated on the colour green. "You think I'm pretty?" she whispered.

He looked at her as if she were mad. "Yes. Is that a problem?" He blinked and shook his head. "Sorry. I tend to snap when my opinion is questioned. John said it's the worst trait I picked up from my father. I apologize. I do think you're pretty though. Please don't question my opinion, because it's not likely to change any time soon."

Her second hug was tighter than the first, which was bone crushing itself. "Thank you," she whispered. Then, realizing what she was doing, she let go of him and slid to the opposite side of the bench to hide behind her book. She cast quick glances at him, much to his amusement.

The door slid open, breaking the silencing charm. The three boys eyed them all with sneers. "Anyone seen Potter?" the blonde one asked rather petulantly.

_Must be the spokesman._ The blonde looked almost fake, save for the fact that it started at the hairline, so it wasn't bleached. However, the dark eyebrows were an odd counterpoint. The two larger boys behind him reminded Harold of the inbred idiots that uncle Mycroft went on about when he spoke of the last war. "Who wants to know?"

That seemed to startle the boy, since Harold was right by the door. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. This is Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle. And… you are?" he asked with practised disdain.

Harold didn't like him already. The way this boy was strutting reminded him of an overly fluffed peacock in mating season. Standing, he looked down and matched Malfoy's sneer with one of his own. "Harold Holmes," he introduced himself with a hand out.

"Pleasure," Malfoy oozed, shaking his hand. "So, you haven't seen Potter either?" Harold just shook his head slowly. "Ah well. So what house do you expect to be sorted in? I, of course, will be placed in Slytherin."

"Interesting," Harold drawled. "According to my uncle, that entire house has been corrupted into a mockery by Voldemort."

Malfoy jerked his hand away. "You _dare_ speak his name?"

"Why not?" he asked with a tilt of the head. "In French it means 'Fleeing Death'. Sounds cowardly to me, running from the inevitable – most likely screaming in fear. Wouldn't surprise me in the least if he's haunting some poor sod while trying to avoid the reaper."

"You best watch your back, Holmes. When my father…"

"Is this the same Lucius Malfoy that used the Imperius Defence?" Harold mocked. "Dear me. Either he's weak willed to the point of indolence, or a liar. Tell me, how much gold did he use to buy his way out of Azkaban?"

Red faced now, Malfoy was sputtering. "Your family can't remain neutral with an attitude like that! And now you're hanging out with squibs and mudbloods!"

Draco never saw the fist that broke his nose. Crabbe and Goyle were so startled that they didn't even catch him when he fell. Harold's voice was cold. "Do yourselves a favour and take out the trash, then get as far away from him as you can. With his disposition, I wouldn't be surprised if the Griffs bludgeon him to death." With that, he slid the door closed and locked it. He watched through the window as they drug the unconscious arse down the corridor, before turning around.

He was faced with two pairs of wide eyes. "You're going to get into so much trouble, Harold," Hermione whispered.

_Decked Malfoy Jr. for mouthing off. Expect a howler. Racist git. HH_

Taking a moment to centre himself, he removed his shrunken trunk from his pocket and placed it on the floor. Tapping it with his wand, it restored itself. "The magical world isn't that much different from the non, Hermione. Neville can tell you as much, but there are factions within it that barely tolerate each other at best. Those that just left are considered Dark."

Hermione noticed Neville nodding and watched Harold search his trunk. "Why did you hit him though? That wasn't very smart."

_I'll burn it when it comes in. SH_

"The terms _Squib_ and _Mudblood_ are epithets that I abhor," Harold said as he found the book he was looking for. "Squib refers to children of magical parents who aren't themselves magical. Mudblood refers to the reverse, and means dirty blood. It's a racial slur that was aimed at you, and I effectively told him I wont tolerate that form of verbal abuse."

Hermione's eyes were wide now. _He fought for me? Defended my honour? Oh my!_ A quick glance showed that Neville was still nodding at what Harold was saying, then a book blocked her vision. "Here, read this," Harold said. "While it's completely vulgar, I believe you need to know what some pure-blood's believe. Knowledge is power. You can return it later."

"I can't decide if you're going to be a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw," Neville said quietly.

Closing and shrinking his trunk, Harold pocketed it and sat down. "Honestly, I want nothing to do with Gryffindor. I find the rivalry between them and the Slytherin house to be rather dull and distracting. While I'm loyal to a fault, when it concerns those that have earned my trust - and would do well in Hufflepuff - I'm too much of a nerd to _not_ be in Ravenclaw."

Neville didn't know that word, but Hermione's smirk meant that he missed a joke somewhere. "Nerd?"

"Means I like books," Harold explained. "Give me a library any day."

The smile on Harold's face, then Hermione's made Neville eye the pair of them warily. Bookhounds, the both of them. He didn't know what to think about that. "I'll probably end up in Hufflepuff," he said quietly, looking a bit morose.

"Nothing wrong with that," Harold said. "Loyalty and hard work are their mantra. Their head of house teaches the Herbology classes too. Ironic, since her name is Pomona _Sprout,_ but I digress. Honestly, don't worry if you end up there. From everything I've heard, they're a good lot. I think you'd have a lot of friends there if you get sorted as a Badger," he grinned.

"I suppose," Neville hedged. "Gran would be disappointed though. She wants me to live up to my father. He was an auror during the war. She even let me use his wand," he held it up for them to see.

"She _is_ a bit of a hard-liner," Harold nodded. "Still, I don't think she'll stop loving you if you end up a Badger. I mean, look at Madame Bones. She's the director of the DMLE, and a Hufflepuff Alumni. My Uncle is more scared of _her_ than your Gran, and _that's_ saying something."

That got Neville to smile.

"Wait," Hermione interrupted, looking up from her new book. "Did you say that she let you use your father's wand?" At Neville's nod, she shook her head. "Ollivander said that wands choose the witch, or wizard in this case. If your wand isn't attuned to you, then you're going to have a lot of problems in class. I think your education should be more important than her pride." She caught herself and shook her head. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

Harold grinned. He liked this girl. "Might've been rude, but you have a rather valid point. Neville, if your Gran gives your trouble for asking for your own wand, I suggest you join us in the library so we can look up wand lore. A missive explaining the pros and cons of an attuned wand should persuade her."

Neville looked at his father's wand, completely torn. On the one hand, he wanted to do his father proud. On the other, he wanted to do his Gran proud. Could he do either with his own wand?

"Don't feel guilty," Hermione said, noting his expression. "I'm sure you can have your father's wand framed for display, or something."

"That's a good idea," Harold agreed. "Even if she disagrees, we can still get you your own wand. I'll even pay for it. I got mine from Gregorovich the Younger in Knocturn Alley."

"I can't let you do that!" Neville protested. "Speciality crafted wands are _expensive_! Besides, how can we get there while we're in school?"

"Of course I can," Harold argued. You're my godbrother, and it's the least I can do. As for getting out of the castle, I'll work something out."

He pulled his mobile out and started texting furiously with both thumbs. _Dad, Dowager Longbottom is forcing Neville to use his father's wand. Something about honouring his father, or some such rot. He'll never get the grade without an attuned wand, and I want to buy him one if he can't convince his Gran. HH_

"Thank you," Neville said, a bit more subdued. "What is that, anyway?"

"Mobile phone," Hermione explained as Harold was busy. "Muggle device. He's texting his father."

"Texting?"

Hermione's eyes darted around while she searched for an explanation. "Think of it like two parchments that are charmed, so that what you write on one, shows up on the other… no matter the distance involved."

"Good explanation," Harold said, not looking up.

_Also: Hermione, the girl, has one hell of a sharp mind. HH_

"Oh. I think I understand," Neville said. "But could you tell me something?"

"What?" Harold asked.

Neville tilted his head in confusion. "How did you know that I liked Herbology?"

Harold grinned and pointed at Neville's feet. "Potting soil in the seams of your shoes."

Hermione bent to look at Neville's feet, then turned her head to stare at Harold. "You are _nothing_ like those rubbish fictions they wrote about you."

"This a good thing or a bad thing?" Harold asked with a brow up.

Her smile was wide. "Good thing. Very good thing," she said rapidly. "Study partner?"

"Absolutely," Harold said, shaking her hand. He was interrupted by his mobile chiming.

_I have no problem helping the lad. Let me know if she refuses the request. I'm intrigued about this Hermione. However, don't get distracted from your studies. SH_

A different chime rang out.

_Don't listen to him. Live a little. A girlfriend might loosen you up. Books aren't everything, you know. JW_

Harold wasn't fast enough to keep Hermione from reading that, if her blush was any indication. To be perfectly honest, she looked fit to self combust at any moment.

Her eyes dilated. "Wait … Sherlock Holmes is a _wizard_?"

Grinning madly, Harold put a finger to his lips. "Shh. Late bloomer." His wink at her had to have burst a blood vessel in her face somewhere, it was so red.

Neville watched the pair, looking back and forth. "Late bloomer. I wonder…"


	2. Prats, Hats, and Crazy Old Wizards

_**"HP: Potterlock" AU  
'The Case of the Stone'  
**__Chapter Two  
- Prats, Hats, and Crazy Old Wizards -_

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I don't own squat, save for the plot._

_Love the responses. Thanks for that. I kinda thrive on comments. :-)_

* * *

The door handle to the compartment rattled, getting their attention, then there was a light tapping on the glass of the window. Looking over, they saw a blonde girl. Harold smiled and opened the door. "Fancy meeting you here."

The girl grinned. "There you are, Harold. I saw two 'missing links' carrying the Malfoy-spawn down the corridor, so I came looking for you."

"He's a racist git," Harold said somewhat haughtily.

"Oh, I approve," she said with a dismissive wave. "However, I thought we decided to sit together on the train?"

"You have everything?" Harold asked with a brow up. She nodded and the brow joined the other in a bit of a scowl. "Well, _sit down_ you silly thing," he said while waving to the bench next to Neville."

_Who the hell is this? _Hermione thought to herself, which sparked another thought. _Is this what jealousy feels like? I don't like it. But, why would I be jealous? I just met him, but now there's this … Oh, bollocks. She's probably his girlfriend._

Neville looked uncomfortable when the girl sat a bit away from him on the bench, then he spotted her house crest on her robes and nodded to himself. "Are you… together?"

Two sets of wide eyes gaped at Neville, before the pair of them started snickering. "Oh _heavens_, no. Harold's the brother I never had."

"We'd probably kill each other if that happened," Harold said wryly, still chuckling.

The look of relief on Hermione's face kept her smirk going, as she held her hand out to Neville. "Daphne Greengrass."

Neville's hand shook as he took her hand and kissed the knuckle. "Neville Longbottom. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Hermione was able to smile now, and she held her hand across to Daphne. "Hermione Granger."

"Charmed," Daphne said with a smile. She then gave Harold a shrewd look. "So, why didn't you look for me?"

"One, you were late," Harold said primly. "Two, dad ushered me into the train _long before_ it was was scheduled to leave. Three, I was pulled into this direction. _Completely_ not my fault. Had you been here on time, we would have met these two lovely people together." His head was high and snobbish at this point.

"_Really_," Daphne said disbelievingly, before looking towards Hermione with an upturned brow. "I see." Hermione hid her blush behind her new book, causing her to smirk again. "Ah, I see he's already got you reading. Don't fret. Not everyone believes that rubbish."

"I like reading," Hermione protested. "I can get lost in a library for hours, and call it time well spent."

"Oh _no_," Daphne complained, looking to the ceiling. "Another one."

"There's nothing wrong with books!" Harold said hotly.

Daphne was back to her shrewd look. "I never said there was. However, if you had the chance, you'd put a kitchen and a water closet in the library, just so you don't have to leave it."

Harold was blushing now. "You forgot the bed," he said quietly.

"Oh yes, of course. How silly of me," Daphne grinned. "Do they know?" she asked with a wave towards Neville and Hermione. At his sheepish nod, she grinned. "Good. There's a fan of yours trying to locate you."

"Blondie left the way he came," Harold deadpanned.

"Not him," Daphne huffed. "A redhead. One of the Weasleys I imagine. He was muttering to himself about being, oh what was it he said? '_Best Mates with The-Boy-Who-Lived_'."

"Oh, wonderful." Sighing, Harold looked at Neville, then Hermione. "May I hide behind the pair of you? The idiots are everywhere. She's no help, and will probably tell them where I am," his last comment was emphasized with a thumb hook in Daphne's direction.

Hermione smiled and reached over to put a hand on his arm. "Don't worry. We'll protect you," she couldn't hold the look before she started snickering.

"Yeah," Neville grinned. "I'll protect my little godbrother."

"Godbrother?" Daphne asked, startled.

"His mother and my mother are each of our godmothers," Neville explained.

Daphne looked Harold in the eye. "That's two."

"I noticed," Harold said with a somewhat disgusted look.

"Pardon?" Hermione asked. "Two?"

Harold sighed. "My godfather was placed in prison without a trial. Well, at least there's no record of one anywhere that we could find." He paused to look at Neville. "I know this is a touchy subject, and I apologise."

To Hermione, he explained. "My godmother was permanently hospitalized. After the death of my parents, both of my godparents were placed in locations that made it impossible for them to care for me."

Hermione put the book in her lap, her brow scrunched. "That's suspicious."

"Very," Daphne said. "I suppose you and your father thought it wise to not say anything before?"

Harold nodded. "It's nothing against you. Dad and uncle Mycroft wanted this kept on the down low, so I obeyed while they investigated. I have a feeling that whatever plots against my person will become obvious rather soon."

"Mmm," Daphne grunted non-committally.

"So, where do you think you'll be sorted?" Hermione asked, changing the uncomfortable subject.

"Slytherin, most likely," Daphne said. "Both of my parents were, at least."

"Genetics has nothing to do with it," Harold snapped. "_Psychology_ is the deciding factor. On the other hand, if you don't stop trying to be sneaky, you'll end up in the snake pit."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Daphne said haughtily.

"You know my feelings on this," Harold grumbled. "Most of the death nibblers are going to be there."

"And I have a full complement of spells, wards, and physical deterrents to their actions," Daphne countered. "Not to mention, a quasi big brother who will defend my honour and my virtue like any brother should."

"Absolutely," Harold said with a scowl. "On the other hand, do you want to hide your emotions here as well?"

Daphne glared at him. "Shut up."

"Ice Queen."

"Occam's Razor."

Looking at the two … _siblings?_ … Hermione had to ask. "Uhm, if it's not too personal, how did you two become…" her mouth closed with a click when she couldn't find the proper word.

Surprisingly, Neville answered this question. "The Greengrass and Holmes families have mutual alliance. With that alliance, I would think that these two were schooled in similar circumstances?"

"We went to the same muggle primary," Daphne explained, noting Harold's expression. "Yes, I know you don't like that word."

"Then don't use it," Harold stated flatly.

Hermione's brow went up. "You see it the same as 'squib' and 'mudblood'?" His nod prodded the follow up question. "What do you call them then?"

"Non-magical for muggle, mundane for squib. The other doesn't need translating, it's so vulgar," Harold explained. "You either have magic, or you don't. The whole blood line argument doesn't hold any water whatsoever. Or blood for that matter. The phrase _'sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me'_ is a bald faced lie. People hide their bigotry behind derogatory names and phrases, so that they perpetuate the hatred."

"That's understandable," Neville said quietly.

* * *

Over the course of the trip, the four got to know each other. Neville turned out to be home schooled by his grandmother, and ended up being dropped out the window by his granduncle to activate his accidental magic. The others thought that was horrid, but snickered at the thought of the boy bouncing all over the place for a half an hour.

Hermione turned out to be the daughter of two licensed Dentists. Her mother was a general practitioner that focussed on the younger generation, while her father specialized in reconstructive surgery. When she was younger, strange things happened whenever she was stressed, and even turned a few people's hair different colours, or exploded some light bulbs.

As for Harold and Daphne, they parted ways in primary after their second year. This was because Harold was placed forward several years, twice. As it turned out, he already had his A-Levels in chemistry, biology and forensics. "My father insisted," he explained with a shrug.

What Harold didn't tell them, _including Daphne_, was that he literally copied the information from the teachers' minds. Sherlock and Mycroft warned him about it countless times, before they both had him trained in occlumency. Training him as a legilimense was completely redundant, however. Sherlock, on the other hand, went behind Mycroft's back and had allowed it – as well as letting his son copy his own way of thinking in organizing the mind. _'School is dull,'_ was his reasoning.

Daphne's story wasn't that much different from Hermione's, save the location of primary and that her parents dealt with commerce. There were a few times that Harold stepped in when there were bullies about during school, but more often they argued politics while Harold practised the cello on the weekends.

Daphne ended up raving about the duets that Harold played with his father, which caused him to have to pull it from his trunk for a small impromptu demonstration of the prelude from Bach's Cello Suite number one in G major, first movement. Daphne barely held it together from the sight of awe on Hermione's face.

All too soon, the trip was over and Harold was astounded that he wasn't bored for six hours. Daphne kept non-verbally teasing him with glances at Hermione, to which he would counter with looks towards Neville. That evoked her standard eye-roll.

* * *

The foursome exited the train to hear a loud bellowing. "Firs' Years! Firs' Years over here!"

"That… is a very large man," Hermione whispered while ducking behind Harold.

Harold reached behind him to take her hand. "That's just Hagrid. He's the Keeper of the Keys for Hogwarts. Don't worry, he's harmless."

"Father said he's been here for years," Daphne said, taking her other arm in hers. "He's a pussycat."

"_Big_ pussycat," Hermione mumbled. Inwardly though, she was doing her best not to stumble when she realized Harold was holding her hand.

Harold and Neville helped the girls into the boat, and they all sat and watched as Hogwarts became visible with large smiles on their faces. Harold noticed that Hermione hadn't let go of his hand, but didn't mind.

After they disembarked, Neville couldn't find his toad. Harold pulled his wand. "_Accio_ Trevor." There was a protesting croak, as the toad flew into Harold's hand.

"_That's_ how Gran always finds him," Neville said in realization.

There was a small "Teach me?" from his right, and Harold nodded at Hermione with a half grin.

Daphne simply rolled her eyes again. _Merlin. She's absolutely besotted,_ she thought to herself, and had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling.

Two boys behind them were arguing about how the students were sorted. One of them mentioned wrestling a troll, which caused Harold to sigh. "Philistines," he mumbled.

When he overheard Hermione whispering spells to herself, he patted her arm. "Hermione, even if it is a written test, there can't be a wrong answer as it would be a psychological profile." He grinned and nodded when she relaxed.

Hagrid introduced them to Professor McGonagall, who gave them a lecture on the houses and how they were family. They met the four house ghosts on the way through the castle, which caused Hermione to squeak like a few others, and latched onto Harold's arm.

When they entered the Great Hall, Hermione commented on reading how the ceiling was enchanted to reflect the sky outside. Harold wondered aloud who charmed the candles to float about, while Daphne sized up the different tables.

When they saw the hat, Harold was insulted and said as much. Hermione's question as to why was answered by Daphne's _'It's just him. You either get used to it, or want to hit him. It's a toss-up.'_ Harold's only defence was, _'It's singing, Daphne. That's just wrong – and off-key, which is unforgivable.'_

While the sorting was going on, he caught Severus' eye and nodded to him, then looked the rest of the staff over. The man with the turban seemed to be caught between a frightened and constipated expression. The Headmaster appeared to have come straight from a drag queen cabaret or something, with those robes of his. The stars danced on them for pity's sake! His eyes bothered him though. The geniality seemed to fail when he saw his eyes.

Just as well. He didn't like him either.

"Granger, Hermione."

Harold patted her arm and squeezed her hand, before Daphne patted her back to prompt her forward. She sat on the stool and accepted the hat on her head with trepidation. Two seconds later, the hat announced "RAVENCLAW!"

Harold smiled and clapped for her, then was surprised when she winked back at him.

"Greengrass, Daphne."

"Good luck," Harold whispered.

She gave him a look. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

Her sorting was just as short, when the hat announced, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harold's face fell, and he mouthed "Be Careful," to her. She just nodded imperially as she walked to the table.

Looking over, he saw that Hermione was straddling two chairs. She pointed to the one on her left, then at him. He smiled at her for that.

"Hopkins, Wayne."

"Bollocks," Harold grumbled as he fished his mobile out. Setting it to vibrate, he sent a message to his father while hiding it behind Neville.

_You were right. Going to Plan-B. HH_

_No problem. Amelia is standing by. SH_

Satisfied, he put up a blank façade while the other students were sorted. Severus looked appalled. Harold lightly shook his head, to which Severus simply pursed his lips in disgust.

"Longbottom, Neville."

Harry patted his new friend and godbrother's shoulder. "Good luck and don't fret. Remember what I said," he quietly spoke.

Neville smiled at him and calmly walked to the stool. Three seconds later, the hat announced, "HUFFLEPUFF!" Neville was still smiling as he went to his table.

He heard Malfoy snickering, and turned to glare at him. The boy paled and put up a front of indifference, pointedly not looking at him.

"Malfoy, Draco."

The hat was barely on his head, before it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

"Potter, Harry."

Harold just stood there and looked about like the others. Hermione looked worried, but he winked at her. She grinned pensively at him, not understanding.

"Potter, Harry!"

After a few seconds, the next name was called.

"Sounders, Rodney."

And so it went.

"Weasley, Ronald."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harold shared a look with the last boy and shrugged.

"Zabini, Blase"

After he was sorted into Slytherin, McGonagall lowered the list and stared at Harold. "And what is your name, young man?"

"Harold Holmes, Professor," he replied calmly. "Or, as we notified the Headmaster, Harold Holmes-Potter. I'm confused as to why the list wasn't changed, because the owl wasn't returned. One wonders if he forgot."

There was a murmur amongst the students. He had to glance to his right, as Severus sat back with a look of pure shock on his face. The Headmaster stood and stared at him. "Is that so, Harry?"

"If you must use the familiar, please use Harold, sir," he said calmly. "Since I do not prefer to be familiar, Mr. Holmes will do, Headmaster."

"Your name is Harry Potter," Dumbledore protested with a scowl.

"No it is _not_," Harold replied, getting angry. "You would have known that, had you kept up with where you placed me old man. Since you did not, I am not to blame for your ignorance or incompetence."

"You will show the Headmaster respect, young man," McGonagall said hotly.

"His position is what I respect," Harold said, eyeing the Professor, before turning to Dumbledore. "However, the man I do _not_."

"Perhaps we should adjourn to my office," Dumbledore said.

Harold shook his head. "I think not. I do not trust you enough to be alone in the same room, sir."

"Show the Headmaster respect, or be placed in detention," McGonagall said a bit louder.

"I WILL NEVER RESPECT HIM!" Harold roared, pointing at the Headmaster. "He left me with _CHILD ABUSERS_! Why in the Name of _God_ _Himself_ would I ever respect him for that?"

It was so quiet, you could've heard a ghost fart. McGonagall was pale and turned to glare at Dumbledore. Eventually Severus' dulcet baritone filled the air. "Where did the Headmaster leave you, Harold?"

He took a cleansing breath and stared him in the eye. "Petunia Evans-Dursley and her fat bigoted husband, Vernon."

Severus' chair was thrust backwards as he stood up, thundering and echoing throughout the hall and several corridors. "YOU LEFT HIM WITH THAT RACIST MONSTER? WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, ALBUS? TUNEY _HATES_ MAGIC!"

"Hated, Uncle Severus," Harold said quietly. "_Past_ tense. They've been dead for seven years."

"Why did you never say anything? You _know_ I would've done something about that," Severus asked.

Harold blinked. "My father and Uncle Mycroft decided not to, because they preferred you not being sent to Azkaban for killing the senile idiot in retribution. Frankly, I agreed with their reasoning."

Dumbledore fell back into his chair, breathing heavily while the students drank in the spectacle. After a moment, Harold's quiet voice was heard by everyone. "Due to the Potter Will being unlawfully sealed within the Ministry, under Chief Warlock Dumbledore's order, _which is ironic, since he witnessed it for them,_ the rights of seven people (_including myself_) were systematically ignored.

"After my parents murder by an insane dark lord, My Godfather, Sirius Black, was thrown in prison without a trial, and has yet to have one to this day – despite all efforts to grant him one.

"My Godmother, Alice Longbottom, was rendered incapable to care for anyone, including her own son.

"After them, Amelia Bones was to take care of me as she was their lead Auror and friend after leaving Hogwarts. I would've liked to have a brother or sister. As it is, Daphne is a _wonderful_ sister, even though we technically should not have met until today.

"Peter Pettigrew can be overlooked, as he was named James and Lily Potter's secret keeper in the will.

"Unfortunately, since my other named guardian is a werewolf, he was automatically declined by the Ministry as being a so-called Dark Creature once a month.

"Lastly, if all three of the accepted list were incapable of tending to my care, I should have gone to Minerva McGonagall."

There was an explosion of Scottish Gaelic as Professor McGonagall started screaming at the Headmaster. The only thing that was understood was _'I warned you!'_ and _'worst muggles'_.

After she was spent, and Dumbledore was thoroughly chastised, Harold spoke again. "This would not have been brought to the public knowledge had you simply agreed with my name.

"As it is, Gringotts has already seized the funds stolen by you for your own coffers, as well as those sent to the Weasleys for the bride price of their only daughter, Ginevra. Needless to say, the original marriage contract you illegally scripted has been voided and burned. And yes, I am currently in contact with solicitors to have you formally charged for Attempted Line Theft."

After a moment of silence, he turned to McGonagall. "We should talk later, ma'am. However, I do believe we've held up dinner for long enough. May I be sorted now?"

McGonagall numbly handed the hat over to him. Instead of sitting on the stool, he stared at Dumbledore while putting it on his head. Four seconds later, the hat announced…

"RAVENCLAW LORD'S QUARTERS!"

Harold held up his right hand. The Potter Signet Ring glowed on his middle finger as he glared at the Headmaster. After a second, McGonagall removed the hat and bent down to hug him. "I'm so sorry. Please go to your table. We'll talk later."

As he walked to the Ravenclaw table, he paused to look back. "Oh, I forgot. You're also being charged with Wilful Neglect of a Minor, seeing as how I wasn't placed in St. Mungos for medical attention following the attack. According to the Goblins, there was a Class Ten Parasite embedded in that scar I had. As you can see, I no longer have either." After letting his hair fall back down, he turned and made his way with a smile on his face. "Wonderful beings, the Goblins."

After he sat down next to Hermione, she immediately engulfed him in a hug and was doing her best not to sob. If anything was said before the food arrived, he missed it due to trying to comfort the poor girl. "It's okay, I'm all right, dear. Oh, _please_ don't cry," he whispered in her ear.

"I thought he… Why did he?" she stuttered into his shoulder.

He rocked her. "I don't know. Frankly, I don't care. Now, enough of feeling sorry for me. There is some wonderful food here that's begging to be eaten. Be a shame to waste it, yeah?"

She pulled back a bit and wiped her eyes. Impulsively, he kissed her cheek. "Thanks for caring, Hermione. I do appreciate it." Looking about, he noticed the entire table watching them. Frowning at that, he nodded at them, then snuck his mobile out and showed it to her under the table.

Her brow went up when she saw that an active call was going. A quick glance up evoked a wink from him. "They heard everything," he whispered. "Regardless of what happens, I'm so glad I met you."

Smiling a bit, she went after some chicken with her head down. "I'll put my hair back like you suggested," she whispered to the phone, before Harold put it in his pocket without turning it off.

After dinner, Dumbledore made some announcements that hardly anyone listened to. The glares from most of the student body were alarming, but they changed to confusion when he mentioned the untimely death for anyone entering the third floor corridor.

Afterwards, Hermione wouldn't let go of Harold's arm as they were led to the Ravenclaw common room by the fifth year prefects. When they were shown that the password was a riddle, he questioned the logic behind it.

"The knocker will only ask the riddle to those in Ravenclaw. Anyone else will simply think this is a strange statue on the wall."

That satisfied him.

The colours of blue and silver were everywhere in the common room, and Harold and Hermione's eyes were drawn to the rows of books along two walls. "We have our own library?" Hermione nearly squeaked out in excitement. Harold just grinned.

Interestingly enough, the later class books were on the higher shelves. This was simply idiotic to Harold, who thought a simple _Accio_ could get him anything up there. He didn't voice that though.

Pamphlets were handed out to all the first years. In it was a map that showed where all the classrooms were, a listing of the professors – including wizard photos of said professors – and a small list of common household spells in the back. The only ones he didn't know were the packing and unpacking spells.

After the others were shooed off to their rooms, Hermione gave him another bone crushing hug and a kiss to the cheek before running up the stairs. Turning around, he saw Professor Flitwick nodding to the fifth year prefects. Once they were away, the little professor turned to smile at him.

"Well, Lord Potter or Lord Holmes-Potter?" he asked.

Harold smiled. "Mr. Holmes for everyday classes. However, you may call me Harold. The Lord Potter is for people I don't like."

Nodding with a chuckle, Flitwick held his hand to the side. "Follow me, Harold." Moving to the left of the fireplace, he pulled his wand and tapped on the wall in three different places. Honestly, it reminded Harold of the door to Diagon Alley as the wall opened.

In the archway, a tapestry appeared with the Ravenclaw Crest embroidered on a field of blue. "This is the entrance to the Ravenclaw Lord's Quarters. You need to set a password, but for now let's go up."

A spiral staircase went up three floors. "This stairway will modify itself for you over the years as your legs grow longer, Harold."

"Why three flights up?" he asked as they reached the door. "I don't mind the extra exercise, but I was just curious."

Flitwick grinned as they entered. "The Lord's Quarters are at the top of the tower. You'll have windows in each room. This is the main living area, where you can invite guests. Just no wild parties, please?" Seeing the eye-roll, he chuckled. "Sorry. I'm required to say that. There's a kitchenette through there if you have your own house elf. If not, you can call on Lotty if you wish to eat up here."

"I don't have one at the moment. Dad can't abide the broken English," Harold said, earning a small chuckle.

"Through there is a study with enough shelves for whatever books you brought with you, along with a writing desk for homework or family business. That door is to a guest bedroom for family members, and that one is your room."

Harold was suitably impressed. Nodding when prompted, he simply followed the professor about and didn't ask much. When they were back in the main living area, he noticed him watching him. "I assume you have questions, sir?"

"Plenty," Flitwick agreed with a nod. "First and foremost, I have to ask if all of that was true. Mainly, because it's completely mind boggling that Albus Dumbledore would do such a thing to a child."

Nodding, he held his hand out to one of the chairs. "Let's sit, because this will take a while. I'd offer tea, but…"

There was a pop in the room, and a tea service appeared on the small table between the chairs. "Thank you Lotty," Flitwick said.

"You are welcomes, Professors Flitty," Lotty replied with a smile. "Greetings, youngs lord. I beings Lotty, and I has been givens the honours of servings you. If you have needs, please call me."

Harold smiled. "Thank you, Lotty." After she popped away, he turned to the professor. "Before we begin, why on Earth is there something dangerous in the castle? Also, is the Headmaster truly out of his mind? He announced to everyone that there's something _interesting_ in the third floor corridor. Ten to one there will be excursions by the curious."

Flitwick blinked. "You may have a point, but I'm unable to discuss it."

Nodding with a frown, he began telling his story. He had to stop a few times, due to Flitwicks outbursts. The one after he told him about the poisoning was the longest. After a while, his eyes started drooping.

"We can finish later, Harold. Get some sleep. I'll be handing these out tomorrow, but I have your class schedule here."

"Thank you, sir."

After he was left alone, he took out his trunk and put it in his room to unpack. Snapping his fingers, he went back down to the main entrance tapestry to set the password. When he got back to the main room, he could tell that Lotty was already busy putting his things away. The biggest clue was that his cello was standing in the corner.

"Lotty?"

There was a pop. "Yes Lord Potter, sir?"

"Just Harold, or Lord Harold if you have to be formal," he said. "Am I your sole duty this year?" There was a small flapping of ears when she nodded. "All right. I would like to thank you in advance for helping me this year. In the morning, in case I'm not awake before six, please rouse me gently. I have a tendency to jump up or smack something if I'm startled awake, so fair warning. I would appreciate some strong coffee when I wake up, milk – two sugars. The smell should be enough to wake me.

"Oh, and if Hermione Granger is up before me and is wondering where I am, please let her know where the entrance is. I set a password already, but haven't done so for her. If she wants to see the room before I'm ready, please allow her entrance?"

Lotty nodded. "I can be doings that for you, Harold, sir."

"Thank you," he smiled. "For now, I'm knackered and need to get to bed."

"Of course, Harold, sir," Lotty nodded. "I've alreadys made the bed for you. Your clothings has been put away in the wardrobe, and your books has been organized in the study. I placed the cello in the main room, and the viola is on your desk in the study."

"You're brilliant, Lotty. Thank you and good night."

"Good night, Harold, sir."

* * *

_A/N: If you wish to hear the music Harold played on the train, then remove the spaces and listen to this: youtu .be /nzVi_MpVBYg_


	3. The Other Side of the Mobile

_**"HP: Potterlock" AU  
'The Case of the Stone'  
**__Chapter Three  
- The Other Side of the Mobile -_

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I don't own squat, save for the plot._

_This chapter has been a real bother. Oh, and for the record: This Severus Snape is not the Snape you know. He's the middle (half) brother of Mycroft and Sherlock. That bit of history caused a lot of things to go differently. So, if you're looking for the typical Dungeon Bat or Greasy Git, you won't find him. The three brothers have the same mother. Only Sherlock and Mycroft share the same father though. As such, Snape isn't even his last name. He took their mother's maiden name instead, as his father was worse than Vernon._

_Other things about him are different as well. I'll be describing his appearance later._

_Sorry about the state of this chapter. It's been so long though, that I'm putting it out now. I may clean it up later though. As it is, I'm anxious to actually get to the next day and beyond._

* * *

Watching Harold wave at them before disappearing into the train, Sherlock was at a momentary loss, and with it came a small hint of doubt. He didn't like that. A little over seven years had passed since the lad came into his life, and now he hardly recognized himself.

Not to say that he had changed outwardly. He still didn't suffer fools or idiots, and was bored more often than not. _The pot-shots and divots in the walls could attest to that. Then there was the smiley face._ Still, what he was feeling at the moment was unique.

It reminded him of the feeling he had when Irene faked her death. While he was immune to her Veela allure, it was the wordplay he had missed. Her mind was sharp, and had nearly fooled him more than once.

Interestingly enough, Irene had propositioned him, and he would swear Harold had something to do with it. He didn't know how to take that at the time, because it was an actual _proposal_. She had asked him not long after he saved her from being beheaded.

_Okay, maybe she affected me a little._

_No. The only way that would ever work, is if she gave up what she did for a living. The price on her head for knowing too much is… extravagant._

"Getting sentimental in your old age, Sherlock?" John asked, none too subtly.

He eyed John from the side, frowning. "Shut up. He's my son."

John looked contrite. "Right. Sorry."

Sherlock stood there for a moment, not wanting to move as he realized that he really _did_ think of him as his own. His pride in Harold's accomplishments only increased the more he thought about them. Of _course_ Harold could do this. All of the planning was sound. Grinning, he abruptly turned and headed for the apparition point at the far end of the station.

When he arrived at the marked location, he realized John was lagging quite a bit behind. The look of concern on his face was troubling when he caught up with him. "What's wrong?"

"I just had the most disturbing encounter with a sea of ginger," John said while thumbing over his shoulder. "Productive family, I must say. The overly fussy one was telling the mother that 'he wasn't on this side either'." John turned and inclined his head towards the train. "One of the brood might've done a runner, you think?"

Looking over, Sherlock saw the woman through the throng of people, holding a young girl's hand. While she was being jovial towards the four boys, he could see that she was worried. What was her name, Prewett? Palming his wand, he sent an eavesdropping charm to the bench that the woman was standing next to. While he could read lips, she wasn't exactly facing him.

"… _don't know where he could be. Oh, the poor boy. Fred, George, search the train. Percy… oh, don't even say goodbye. Whatever am I going to do with you? Ronald, stay close to Fred and George. Remember what I told you."_

"_Yeah, mum. I'll remember."_

After the boys boarded the train, the girl looked up to her mother. _"Mummy? Is Harry missing?"_

"_No Ginny, he probably got on the train already."_

"_Can I go in and say hello?"_

"_No, dear. I'm sorry."_

The girl stamped her foot._ "But you said I'd meet my betrothed today!"_

Satisfaction filled him, and Sherlock let the charm drop. "Of course. The Weasleys. Let's go, John. I'll explain later."

"I don't like that smirk," John complained in a flat tone. "Bad things happen when you get like this. And, the exit is back that way."

"We're not taking a taxi," Sherlock said, ignoring most of what he said. "Now stand still, and take a deep breath," he said while taking hold of John's arm.

John closed his eyes in resignation. "I hate this part." He inhaled sharply, just before they vanished from the station with a small crack of noise.

Truth was, he really _did_ hate apparition. The whole concept of being compressed through some form of magical corridor the size of a soda straw was completely appalling, _and_ one hundred percent uncomfortable. It never got better, and always made him want to relieve his stomach of its contents. _Star Trek lied!_

So, when they appeared wherever the hell they were, Sherlock simply patted John's back while the poor man leaned on his knees. "All right, there?"

"Waiting for my stomach to catch up," John grunted. Standing, he back-punched Sherlock's shoulder. "I hate it when you do that, you know. Now, where the hell are we?" Looking around, he blinked. "Oh… Why?"

"I would say because he's a busybody, but that would be lying," Sherlock replied. "We have an appointment. Lunch, which will be served after you're feeling better, followed by an afternoon of dreadful family business that I could hardly care less about, then finally dinner with some of the governors as well as the Director of the DMLE."

"All day affair, then," John said with a sigh. "This have to do with a case, or is it Hogwarts related? You've been tight lipped this past month, and don't think I haven't noticed. Is it related to the will?"

Blank façade in place, Sherlock simply nodded. "All three. Patience, John. I know we haven't been forthcoming, and I apologize. I promise everything will be revealed tonight." It was a miracle he didn't start swearing. Waiting just wasn't his forte.

A simple grunting affirmative was all John did to reply, satisfied for now. Secrets were nothing new, and he didn't mind – so long as he was told later. The heads in the fridge and the eyeballs in the breadbox he could do without, though. Bloody experiments.

Walking towards Holmes Manor, John was still impressed with the size of the place. It was intimidating, yet elegant. Normally, one would assume that such a large mansion would have some form of decay involved. This place was a bit more than well kept, though. The only way one would know that it was a magical home, was if you were told about it. The parking area for cars was like any other, and there were no fancy hedges that defied the laws of physics either.

All in all, it was the epitome of the rich. He still didn't know how to feel about that, considering the flat they shared. "You once told me that mundanes were ostracised by pure-blood families. I apologize if this is too personal, but is that the reason for Baker Street?"

Caught out by that observation, Sherlock turned his head with an upturned brow as they walked. "Actually, no. It started as a disagreement with my father about the future employment he wished me to undertake. Later, I found that I rather liked the simplistic approach to living."

"I think you just like Mrs. Hudson's cooking," John said with a straight face.

Sherlock tilted his head. "Her tarts _are_ rather brilliant, but I could do without her approach in combining random foods and calling it _casserole,_" he said with disdain.

John's chuckle was interrupted by Sherlock's mobile going off. The man smiled, then frowned at what he read, before firing off a rapid reply.

"What is it?" John asked.

"Just a small update from Harold," Sherlock replied. Flicking through the photos, he showed him Neville's picture. "That's the Longbottom boy we talked about. Apparently, the compartment Harold went to had him and this girl in it."

"I'd say it was a coincidence, but I'd be more inclined to say that he sought him out," John said with a nod. "The girl's rather adorable. What's her name?"

"Didn't say," Sherlock said as he rang the bell and pocketed his mobile.

John looked up at him. "So, what was the job?"

The look of disgust on Sherlock's face was rather telling. "Stock broker."

"Ah," John nodded with a small shudder. "Yes, I can readily see that argument. If you had taken it, I'd lay odds on the destruction of the building in under six days."

"Hours," Sherlock nodded with a wry grin, as the door opened. "I wouldn't have lasted the day."

* * *

Lunch was delicious and pleasant, if you overlooked the constant bickering between Sherlock and Mycroft. Rather than stay underfoot, John had ensconced himself in the media room to watch the telly. Honestly though, Sherlock suspected that it was more of a bolt hole and couldn't blame him for hiding.

Harold had sent several messages over the afternoon. The girl turned out to have parents that liked Shakespeare, if her name was any indication. He'd forgotten all about having to wait for Daphne, but didn't bother himself with it too much. The fact that Augusta was forcing Neville to use his father's wand upset him though, and he intended to bring that up with her this evening.

Family business was more of the migraine inducing boredom than he thought possible. Discussing investments was not on his list of things interesting, but he sloughed through it for Harold's sake as over half of them were in his name.

He was interrupted by Mycroft's assistant. "Your guests have arrived. They're waiting in the parlour." Direct, succinct and to the point. He'd have to remember to do something nice for her… if he could ever remember her name.

Coming into the room, he could see that the two women were watching the man out of the corners of their eyes. It was almost as if they expected him to start frothing at the mouth or something. Considering how he had avoided Azkaban, he couldn't fault them really.

"Ah, Sherlock!" Lucius Malfoy said with a superior expression about him. "Wonderful to see you. How is that lad of yours?"

"Extremely satisfied to get to his schooling, Lucius," Sherlock said with a bored tone. Turning, he inclined his head. "Madame Bones, Dowager Longbottom, thank you both for attending this evening as well."

"Might I ask what this is about?" Amelia asked. "With Lord Malfoy and the Dowager Longbottom in attendance with your brother, I would assume that this would concern the Hogwarts' Governors. Or, is this an impromptu meeting of the Wizengamot leads?"

"All four of us have children attending for the first time this year, Madame," Sherlock replied. "All are scions of their respective houses. This is politics at its finest: Dreadfully dull, with excitement interspersed. As for my brother, he should be along shortly."

Lucius was momentarily confused by that statement. The Holmes Scion had graduated some time ago, and was already deep in the Ministry. Looking to either lady, he could tell that they were perplexed as well. While he would never admit it publicly, Lucius knew that had he attended Hogwarts, Sherlock would have been the epitome Ravenclaw. With Madam Bones and Dowager Longbottom in attendance as well, the four houses of Hogwarts were represented in the room.

He didn't know what Sherlock was up to, but that statement piqued his curiosity enough to restrain himself for the time being. Politics was an art form, and he considered himself a master of it.

* * *

Dinner was as scrumptious as lunch had been, but John had to wonder about the seating arrangements. The Dowager was sitting across from the blond Lord and next to the Madam. The Madam was an interesting bird with a monocle. That he was across from her and next to the Lord was a bit intimidating. Sherlock and Mycroft were at opposite ends of the table. Mycroft between the Lord and the Dowager, and Sherlock between himself and the Madam.

For not having been introduced to these people before, John found them to be rather easy to read. The Lord and the Dowager despised each other. The Madam was the most composed, _next to Mycroft and Sherlock, of course_. The back handed compliments that the Lord was giving throughout set him on edge, and was only now coming to realize why Sherlock told him to bring his sidearm. Everything about the man disturbed him.

Has he known of Lord Malfoy's bigotry against non-magicals, it would have been hysterical. Had Lucius known he was sitting next to a muggle… The only indication that there was a prank going on, were small smirks from Sherlock and Mycroft. Amelia and Augusta simply didn't know any better.

Sherlock's mobile chimed, earning curious looks from the Lord and the Dowager. After checking it, he looked to his brother and gave a brief nod. Mycroft pulled his own mobile and sent a text message, while Sherlock set his on the table. Pulling something from his pocket, he set a blue crystal over the ear speaker, then tapped it with his wand. Just to annoy him, he gave John a knowing smirk.

"Well, I do believe we should do with a bit of music," Mycroft announced with a smile. Pulling his wand, he hit the wireless. Seeing the two Holmes brothers have matching satisfied smiles unnerved everyone. "I do believe Severus will be sending you a howler before too long, Sherlock."

Tittering a rather unmanly giggle, Sherlock nodded. "I look forward to it."

Before Lucius could ask, the music from the wireless stopped suddenly. The announcer for the evening, one Charles Brubeck, was heard.

"_Sorry to interrupt everyone, but we have a rather exclusive and historic moment to hear tonight. As you all know, this is the year that The-Boy-Who-Lived begins his attendance at Hogwarts. We are truly fortunate to have someone on the inside tonight, as we will be listening to his sorting! Now, just to let everyone know, there is a bit of a time delay as the charms involved are rather complex."_

Sherlock snorted and glanced at his mobile, earning two confused looks, and a look of admiration from John.

"_Here we go everyone. I will apologize in advance, because we got the feed in the middle of the sorting. As normal, the announcements are being done by Professor Minerva McGonagall. Let's listen in, shall we?"_

_'Longbottom, Neville.'_

_'Good luck and don't fret. Remember what I said.'_

"_That whisper is from our insider, I think," Brubeck said._

_'HUFFLEPUFF!'_

The Dowager sighed in disappointment, and Lucius gave her a sneer. The proceedings were quite entertaining, he found. "My compliments, Dowager," he said snidely.

"Hufflepuff was _my_ house, Lucius," Amelia stated with a frown. She was satisfied with his sour look.

_'Malfoy, Draco.'_

Lucius' brow arched in anticipation, before smiling.

_'SLYTHERIN!'_

"_Little surprise, there," Brubeck commented._

_'Potter, Harry.' The noise from the hall intensified. After a moment, McGonnagal called out a bit louder. 'Potter, Harry!' Another bit of a wait, then she spoke again, sounding disappointed. 'Sounders, Rodney.'_

"_What's this?" Brubeck interrupted. "He was supposed to be there, wasn't he? Greg? Okay, so what's going on? Did he go to a different school? I thought he was in country."_

_'Weasley, Ronald.'_

"_I must apologize, everyone. I'm not sure what's happening."_

_'GRYFFINDOR!'_

"_We had been promised that we would be listening to Potter's sorting tonight. I'm not sure what's going on." Greg said._

_'Zabini, Blase.'_

"What could have happened to him?" the Dowager said, extremely worried. "Dumbledore said he was in a safe place!"

_'SLYTHERIN!'_

"I will be getting to the bottom of this," Amelia said.

_'And what is your name, young man?' _McGonagall said, interrupting the matching glares that Longbottom and Malfoy were sporting.

_'Harold Holmes, Professor,' a polite voice said. 'Or, as we notified the Headmaster, Harold Holmes-Potter. I'm confused as to why the list wasn't changed, because the owl wasn't returned. One wonders if he forgot.'_

"_Oh, my," Brubeck said._

"_This should be good, and we scooped Skeeter!" Greg said jovially._

The three guests immediately turned to gape at Sherlock. He smiled his most insufferable knowing expression, and held up his hand. "There's more."

John started chuckling as the three turned to the wireless as one.

_'Is that so, Harry?' an elderly voice said._

_'If you must use the familiar, please use Harold, sir,' he said calmly. 'Since I do not prefer to be familiar, Mr. Holmes will do, Headmaster.'_

_'Your name is Harry Potter,' Dumbledore protested with a bit of a growl in his voice._

_'No it is _not_,' Harold stated flatly. 'You would have known that, had you kept up with where you placed me, old man. Since you did not, I am not to blame for your ignorance or incompetence.'_

Lucius brow went up as he tried to hide his smile. This was better than he expected. Augusta and Amelia looked as if they were going hit something.

_'You will show the Headmaster respect, young man,' McGonagall said hotly._

_'His position is what I respect,' Harold said, 'However, the man I do not.'_

_'Perhaps we should adjourn to my office,' Dumbledore said._

_'I think not. I do not trust you enough to be alone in the same room, sir.'_

_'Show the Headmaster respect, or be placed in detention,' McGonagall said a bit louder._

_'I WILL NEVER RESPECT HIM!' Harold roared. 'He left me with CHILD ABUSERS! Why in the Name of God Himself would I ever respect him for that?'_

"He did what?" Amelia said quietly. From the expressions around the table, everyone was asking themselves the same question. Even Lucius was incensed.

_'Where did the Headmaster leave you, Harold?' a droning baritone voice asked._

"_I think that would be Professor Prince, asking," Greg said._

_'Petunia Evans-Dursley and her fat bigoted husband, Vernon.'_

_There was the sound of wood scraping against stone, followed by a clatter. 'YOU LEFT HIM WITH THAT RACIST MONSTER? WHAT THE {static} WERE YOU THINKING, ALBUS? TUNEY HATES MAGIC!'_

_'Hated, Uncle Severus,' Harold said quietly. '_Past_ tense. They've been dead for seven years.'_

_'Why did you never say anything? You know I would've done something about that,' Severus asked._

_'My father and Uncle Mycroft decided not to, because they preferred you not being sent to Azkaban for killing the senile idiot in retribution. Frankly, I agreed with their reasoning.'_

"Severus _can_ be a bit vicious," Lucius conceded with a scowl on his face. Mycroft and Sherlock simply nodded.

_Harold's quiet voice spoke again. 'Due to the Potter Will being unlawfully sealed within the Ministry, under Chief Warlock Dumbledore's order, _which is ironic, since he witnessed it for them_, the rights of seven people (including myself) were systematically ignored._

_'After my parents murder by an insane dark lord, My Godfather, Sirius Black, was thrown in prison without a trial, and has yet to have one to this day – despite all efforts to grant him one. _

"What?" Amelia started.

_'My Godmother, Alice Longbottom, was rendered incapable to care for anyone, including her own son. _

"They could've been raised together," Augusta said, sounding pained.

_'After them, Amelia Bones was to take care of me as she was their lead Auror and friend after leaving Hogwarts.'_

"WHAT?" Amelia shouted.

_'I would've liked to have a brother or sister. As it is, Daphne is a _wonderful_ sister, even though we technically should not have met until today._

"She is rather bright," John commented.

_'Peter Pettigrew can be overlooked, as he was named James and Lily Potter's secret keeper in the will._

Amelia was apoplectic. "Heads are going to roll over this!"

_'Unfortunately, since my other named guardian is a werewolf, he was automatically declined by the Ministry as being a so-called Dark Creature once a month._

"I never liked that law," Lucius said, surprising everyone.

_'Lastly, if all three of the accepted list were incapable of tending to my care, I should have gone to Minerva McGonagall.'_

_There was a bit of static, and Brubeck's voice was apologetic. "Sorry everyone, but Professor McGonnagal's giving Dumbledore the what for in a rather _colourful_ fashion. Skipping ahead."_

"I would hope so," Augusta said, scowling.

_Harold spoke again. 'This would not have been brought to the public knowledge had you simply agreed with my name. _

_'As it is, Gringotts has already seized the funds stolen by you for your own coffers, as well as those sent to the Weasleys for the bride price of their only daughter, Ginevra. Needless to say, the original marriage contract you illegally scripted has been voided and burned. And yes, I am currently in contact with solicitors to have you formally charged for Attempted Line Theft.'_

Amelia had a muggle notepad out, and was scribbling furiously.

_'We should talk later, ma'am. However, I do believe we've held up dinner for long enough. May I be sorted now?' Harold asked politely._

"_Oh, I do hope that man gets what's coming to him," Brubeck said. "Moment of truth, people."_

_'RAVENCLAW LORD'S QUARTERS!'_

"_HA! You owe me ten galleons, Greg!" Brubeck said. "I told you he'd claim his ring!"_

"_Shut it, Charlie," Greg replied. "Still think he's too young for that, but the law's the law."_

_'I'm so sorry. Please go to your table. We'll talk later.' McGonagall said._

"_You think she could've raised him?" Greg asked._

"_Don't see why not. I mean, she may be the Assistant Headmaster, but that doesn't mean he couldn't have been brought up in Hogwarts while she taught during the day," Brubeck answered._

"_True."_

_'Oh, I forgot,' Harold said. 'You're also being charged with Wilful Neglect of a Minor, seeing as how I wasn't placed in St. Mungos for medical attention following the attack. According to the Goblins, there was a Class Ten Parasite embedded in that scar I had. As you can see, I no longer have either.' There was a pause. 'Wonderful beings, the Goblins.'_

"_Well… That was a shock." Greg said. "Was anything said over the years about Harry Potter true?"_

"_What about all those books?" Brubeck asked._

"_Surely you realize that those are works of fiction, right?" Greg countered._

"_Uhm. Well," Brubeck said a bit softly. "My daughter loves them."_

_Greg laughed. "Of _course_ she does. She's what, six now? It's just a set of stories written for children, like 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. I wonder if Lord Potter will be asking for kickbacks now?"_

"_I wouldn't be surprised if he sues Crawling and Bark for the rights, to be honest," Brubeck replied. "With everything else… I can't believe Dumbledore placed him somewhere and didn't check on him. Whoops. There went the feed."_

Grinning, Mycroft flicked his wand to turn off the wireless.

Everyone at the table looked to Sherlock, who now had his mobile up to his ear. "Don't worry, Amelia. I've been recording the entire thing, and still am."

"Thank you," Amelia said with a nod. "Is that capable of transferring to crystal storage?" At his nod, she returned it. "Please see to it that I receive a copy."

Seeing the look of concern on Sherlock's face, John prodded him. "What is it?"

"That girl is currently sobbing on his shoulder," Sherlock explained. His brow arched, then he smiled.

"What?" John asked.

He grinned at his friend. "I made a comment on her hair to Harold, while he was on the train. She must have read it, because she just said that she was going to 'pull it back like I suggested'."

Augusta looked at Sherlock, concerned with his nonchalance and his ability to smile at this. "Shouldn't you be more angry?" she asked rather primly and criticizingly.

John held up his hand. "Don't bother, Dowager. There are few times when I've seen him angry. Trust me when I say that he is beyond furious. This is a distraction to spare your blushes."

"Actually," Sherlock interjected, "I would not say that I am angry in the least. I am most proud with how he handled himself. That's not to say that there wasn't a white rage a month ago."

"The will," Amelia stated.

Sherlock inclined his head.

* * *

In Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, there was a shouting match between the Patriarch and Matriarch of the Weasley family, in the middle of their living room in the Burrow. "Do you realize what you've done, Molly?"

"I did what I had to do!" Molly shouted back. "Dumbledore said he was his guardian!"

"Molly," Arthur said in a dangerous tone of voice. "You _do_ know that the title of Lord Potter is only one that he holds."

"So?" Molly countered. "What of it?"

"One of them is _Baron Devon_," Arthur said slowly. "Do you understand? He is our _Liege Lord_!"

Blood vacated Molly's face as she fell back into her chair.

Arthur glared at his wife. "Now that you know what can happen to us, I have to go to the Ministry, _Immediately_!"

Molly simply sat there as her husband left the room, trying to control her breathing. She didn't even notice the flash of green of the floo, nor the sound of her daughter flying up the stairs in a fit of tears.

* * *

In the small town of Little Trenethick, in Cornwall, a rather incensed werewolf left the small house he was squatting, with a rather loud crack of apparition. The sound was so loud, that one of the smaller windows shattered. Moony wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he was actually contemplating _biting_ the Headmaster.


	4. Night of Honour (Part I)

_**"HP: Potterlock" AU  
'The Case of the Stone'  
**__Chapter Four  
- Night of Honour (Part I) -_

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I don't own squat, save for the plot._

_This part is in half, mainly because it's been so long in updating. The other half shouldn't be as long of a wait._

* * *

It was quiet after the dinner 'meeting' in the sitting room at Homes Manor. The Dowager was sipping some sherry to settle her nerves, while Madam Bones was still scribbling in her muggle notebook. Lord Malfoy had a tumbler of Ogden's Finest and was standing next to the mantle, plotting. John had his own tumbler of scotch in the corner, while Sherlock and Mycroft waited for the inevitable questioning on opposite sides of the room.

Malfoy's mind was racing. He was beyond pleased with tonight's revelations, as he had been attempting to remove the Headmaster for quite some time. Mostly, it was a political move, as it would severely curtail Dumbledore's power base within the Wizengamot. With what was revealed, true or not, he had a fledgling hope in removing Dumbledore from the Chief Warlock position now. It was almost tenable, and he was salivating over it.

The Dowager was a mix of emotions. Fury was interspersed with extreme sadness over Lord Potter's childhood, or lack thereof. She kept wondering how much different Neville's upbringing would have been, had young Harry been a brother figure for him. Remembering how James was such a troublemaker in his youth had her conclude that the pair would have gotten into quite a bit of mischief, much to her dismay and secret delight.

Sitting in the corner, John was amazed over what was happening. While he was incensed over what had happened to Harold in his youth, he set it aside to concentrate on the facts. This Dumbledore character seemed to be the de-facto leader of the Magical World. It was mentioned that along with his position as Headmaster, he was in charge of both the Magical Government in Great Britain and the International community as well. "It's astounding," he murmured.

Sherlock looked up and over at him. "What is?"

Caught out of his analysis, John chastised himself for voicing his opinion. "This Dumbledore seems to be in complete control of the Magical World. Not only here, but throughout the entire planet."

Intrigued by this, Malfoy arched his brow. "Continue."

Thoughtful expression on his face, John set his scotch to the side and crossed his arms, staring off in the distance while he compiled his observations into words. "Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Headmaster of Hogwarts, the most respected source of education; Dumbledore has the ability to enact laws, enforce those laws, and educate the next generation into supporting said laws. Imagine: One man has the ability to shape young minds in any way he sees fit, then release them into the public, supported by his own world view no matter where they go… save the Americas, of course.

"Reminds me of the Non-Magical world. Sixty years ago, Adolf Hitler, dictator of Germany, changed the entirety of the German education system. He shaped young minds to support the Aryan Doctrine, while coercing them to discriminate and hate the Jewish people. Scapegoats, if you will. While the Hitler Youth program was enforced, he enacted many laws restricting the Jewish community at first, then later relocating them under the so called 'innocent' label of the Final Solution to get rid of them. That was solely to pilfer whatever the Jews had of value, then work them to death in concentration camps. When the extremely underfed people could no longer work, they were sent to incinerators and dusted the countryside with their ashes.

"The main difference I see between the this and the 'Final Solution' is population. While I know that there are people who support the Pure-blood Doctrine, there is a significant difference. The Jewish community is a minority, while the Pure-blood Families are the ones in decline. In addition to this, if one were to remove anyone that isn't a pure-blood from Magical Britain and Ireland, the economy would collapse."

Watching the others while John was on his soapbox, Mycroft and Sherlock had a bit of a smile. They could tell that Malfoy was waffling between being incensed and thoughtful over what was being said. The Dowager had a simple growing look of concern on her face, while Director Bones held her hard mask. Sharing a look between them from across the room, Sherlock nodded for Mycroft to ask the obvious question.

"Your observations aren't that much different from the Death Eaters of times past. However, why would the economy fail?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" John said, looking back to the others. "Without a happy workforce, nothing would get done. Sure, you could attempt to restrict anyone not of pure blood, but how long would it last before they decide for greener pastures? With the continent not being all that different, a smart person would take their entire family and immigrate to the Magical States or Australia. Of course, one would attempt to coerce the non magical community into service, but remember that they number over seven billion. Once they cotton on, they'd annihilate the Magical World."

"Surely, you jest," Malfoy commented with disdain. "How many? And how would they 'annihilate' us?" he asked with a sneer.

Looking at him, John could tell there wasn't an ounce of belief in what he was saying. "Seven Billion. Billion with the letter B. But, to take this solely to what we have here, non-magicals number around forty to sixty million, give or take, as that's an estimate. Her Majesty's Government has an arsenal that would either bypass or overpower house wards, and would be able to do so from a distance of a few miles, or from their chairs in various bases along the island, _depending on if we're talking about aeroplanes or missiles_. Are you aware of why Japan capitulated in the non magical Second World War?"

Seeing two shakes of the head, he explained. "The United States of America developed a weapon that utilizes the destructive force of the most basic building blocks of matter. Dividing them sets off a chain reaction with their adjoining neighbours.

Initially, there were two types. One was rather slim, the other quite large. Each used a slightly different version of the contraption. So, not knowing which was better, they made both.

The skinny one was dropped over the Japanese city of Hiroshima. The resulting explosion completely _vaporized_ the city. Those survivors that were close to the edge of the resulting shock wave, but not burned alive, suffered from the exposure and died a few weeks later.

"Since Japan didn't capitulate even then, the larger of the bombs was dropped on Nagasaki with the same results. Needless to say, they surrendered unconditionally. Now, since technology has advanced, they don't even need an aeroplane to deliver those foul things."

The silence that generated was broken by the director. "I can see that you still don't believe him. Lord Malfoy, Dowager Longbottom, I can assure you that those devices exist."

"As can I," Mycroft said, startling his counterparts. "As you know, I act as liaison between the Wizengamot and the Upper Echelons of Her Majesty's Government. I can assure you that there are many countries in the non magical world that have these devices. They are also called WMD's, or Weapons of Mass Destruction. If a war were to ever break out utilizing them, the entire planet would not be able to survive. We very nearly came to such two moments in recent memory.

"The first was in the sixties, when Magical Russia convinced the U.S.S.R. to move some of them close to the United States. The President of the Magical States and the President of the United States conversed with the Russian Premier and the Magical Czar for two weeks. Eventually, land was the deciding factor, and Cuba 'lost' a third of its land mass to Magical Russia from the Magical States.

"The second crisis happened a decade ago, and was curtailed by the death of the self named Lord Voldemort's demise. If he had not died, we would not have a Magical Britain. To use your vernacular, Lucius, the uppity muggles had us over a barrel. The deadline for that war was November 2nd,1991, and they were going to utilize a concentrated version of the bombs that were used in Japan to completely destroy us."

Lucius held his empty tumbler out to the side, where it disappeared and was replaced by a full one by his unseen house elf. After drinking half, he sat down rather abruptly.

"Yes. Now you see why my hairline receded a few decades early," Mycroft quipped.

"If I may," John interrupted, "what would have happened to the rest of London?"

"You may not remember, since you were out of the country, John," Sherlock explained. "London and the surrounding areas were evacuated, along with Edinburgh, Cardiff; and Dublin, Howth Head, and Limerick of Ireland; as well as Belfast and Londonderry of Northern Ireland."

"Did the IRA take the blame for those?" John asked.

"Of course," Mycroft grinned.

Amelia stood. "While history is fascinating, I need to take my leave. The Ministry is bound to be in an uproar, and we need to move quickly."

Mycroft inclined his head with a knowing smile. "As always, it has been a pleasure. We must do this again."

"If these 'conferences' are as enlightening, I would most definitely attend," Amelia replied with a predatory grin.

Once Madam Bones, his brother and John left the room, Mycroft looked at each of his counterparts in turn. "I will be calling an emergency meeting for early tomorrow. As Dumbledore's actions were taken under his duties at the Ministry, I intend to call a vote of no confidence against the Chief Warlock. Will I have your support in this endeavour?"

Lucius nodded immediately, but Augusta had one caveat. "I have an addition to your proposal," she started. "Since the position of Supreme Mugwump is dependant upon the nation of origin's approval, I dare say that we should remove that support as well. Mr. Watson's comments chilled me to the bone."

"Seconded," Lucius quietly said. "I've always been suspicious of that man." He noted the dry looks he got, but didn't give them any mind.

"Tomorrow should be a historic day," Mycroft said. "The Light, the Dark, and the Grey all agree on something. I cannot remember the last time that happened."

* * *

"A word, if you please, Dowager," Mycroft interrupted her. Augusta was about to toss some floo powder to return to Longbottom Manor, so this startled her.

At her nod, Sherlock held his arms behind him as he approached them. "While I realize that this is none of my business whatsoever, it has been brought to my attention that young Neville is using his father's wand."

"Yes? What of it?" the Dowager said frostily. "It served my son well."

Mycroft tilted his head slightly to give a disapproving look. "Come now, Augusta. The basic tenants of wand lore specifically state that 'the wand chooses its master'. Has it shown that it has approved of him? Sparks, glows, anything of the like?"

Her glacial expression softened and she shook her head lightly.

"Might I suggest that the reason for that is rather simple?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft shook his head. "Allow me. Your social niceties aren't as refined." Seeing his brother tilt his head in a bit of a shrug, he turned to the Dowager. "Augusta, normally when wands change their allegiance, it was won during a duel. This is even more prevalent when the person it's taken from died through the duel. Since…" he trailed off, letting her draw the conclusion herself. "Now, while the wand may work for the young scion, it shan't be very well. I doubt the practicals would be easy for him."

Shaking her head slightly, the Dowager's face fell a bit. "I just want him to do well," she whispered. "Now he's in Hufflepuff."

"And he will," Mycroft said diplomatically. "Remember, Amelia Bones, the Director of the DMLE, is a Hufflepuff Alumni. To be perfectly honest, she scares me more than you do."

A rare smirk crossed her face. "But of course. She had to overcome chauvinistic bias. Besides, it's not like I can arrest you, just filibuster you to death."

Chuckling along with her, he conceded her point. "I stand corrected. Would you be open to the idea for the lad?"

Nodding, Augusta let her mask fall into place. "I will handle it after the vote tomorrow."

* * *

Watching the happenings of the sorting, a few things stuck out to a particular pair of redheads. One was a name of the only ghost they couldn't find on their map. Another was how a _firstie_ had completely cowed the Headmaster. Right glanced at Left and a decision was made: They _liked_ this kid. Then, the pair heard of what was being done to their only sister and nearly came completely undone.

One glanced up the table to Percy, while the other examined Ron. Neither liked what they saw. Instead of righteous indignation over their sister's life being bartered, they saw greed, loss and anger. Looking back at each other, they silently agreed to do something about this.

While disappointed that Potter wasn't sorted into their house, the hat's announcement that he was to be placed in Lord's quarters shocked them as well as everyone else.

Lee Jordan wasn't sure what to make of all of this. At first, he thought it was a joke that the youngest Weasley was set up to be a baby maker at age ten, or whenever it was done. He glanced at the twins across the table and saw them looking in opposite directions. Following their lead, he saw Percy's lip twitching with his brow furrowed. That had to be the most expressive the git had ever been. On the other end of the table, he saw the newest Gryffindor's face changing colours, with an expression he'd only seen on girls who were 'put upon' by useless prats.

Looking back to his two best friends and co-conspirators, he saw disbelief, disappointment, then determination. His head tilt question at them had two slow shakes of the head. He nodded, as it could wait.

It was only after the three of them were in their dorm, when Lee couldn't hold it in any longer. "What the _bloody_ hell is going on?" he ended up shouting.

"If everything young Lord Potter said was true…" Fred started.

"… then Bill and Charlie were right to get out when they did," George finished.

Lee looked back and forth between them. He was one of a very few who could tell them apart. It was a tiny thing that hardly anyone noticed. George would tick his head to the right when he had an idea, while Fred would tick it to the left at the same time. He was also one of the few that understood that they were literally the same person. He waved his hand in a circle at George for explanations, while Fred was digging through his trunk.

"Remember that ghost we could never find?" George asked him.

Fred elaborated. "The one we spent hours tracking down, only to find Percy each time?"

Lee nodded, completely confused at the apparent change of subject. Then his eyes popped wide as he remembered. "Pettigrew?" he squeaked. "You're telling me that we had a hero in our house? A man that turns out to be the worst betrayer imaginable?"

"Yes," they both said without emotion.

Fred stood up with a parchment in his hand. Pulling his wand, he tapped it. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

Lee and George looked over his shoulders as the map revealed itself. Fred's fingers tapped, slid, and prodded the map with practised ease. When they found the name next to their little brother two floors down, the twins looked at Lee. "Get McGonagall."

After Lee left in a mad dash, the twins followed at a somewhat slower pace, splitting up at the stairs. Fred went down, while George went up. If someone was watching the both of them, their actions would've been in perfect synchronization when they got to the proper floors. Opening the doors to the first and fifth dorm rooms simultaneously, they went to their brothers' beds.

Their in tandem fetching broke when Fred found Ron snoring already, while Percy was still up and fuming. "Percival, family meeting," George said, grabbing him by the arm. "_Now_!"

"What's all this rubbish? I'm a prefect now," Percy complained as he was being dragged from the room. "Don't make me assign a detention!"

Fred pulled Ron's covers away and smacked him on the forehead to wake him up. His protesting "Oi!" halted when he saw his brother. "Whazzit goon on?"

Seeing Scabbers being held to his little brother's chest made Fred scowl. Remembering the fact that their Head of House was an animagus made him sick to his stomach. "Family meeting, Ronald. You can bring Scabbers if you want. This'll take a while."

"Shut it, Perce," George barked as he dragged his brother down the stairs. "This has nothing to do with school, you great prat!"

"We gonna get that contract back?" Ron slurred with a yawn, sitting up.

Incensed at this, Fred could only hiss as he yanked him out of bed. "Shut it, Ronald."

Watching them leave, Seamus and Dean looked at each other. The pair had no idea what was going on, but it had to be important. They grabbed their dressing gowns and sneaked down the stair to watch. They ran into Percy's dorm mates on the way down with equally confused faces.

* * *

Sitting in her office, Assistant Headmistress Minerva McGonagall couldn't concentrate on the duties that were required for the first night of the school term. Instead, she had a snifter of Ogden's Finest and was staring into the dancing flames of the offices connection to the internal floo network.

She liked to think of herself as a stern woman, who broke no rules of impropriety. Being caught out for favouritism was one of her fears, and would label her as a hypocrite. She couldn't help but feel that way to the son of two others that wormed their way into her heart sixteen years ago.

Lily Evans was herself in miniature. Highly intelligent and bold enough to stand up to anything or anyone that ran over her beliefs in right and wrong. The temper from hell was another tick in that direction as well.

James Potter, on the other hand, he was a roguish bully before everything changed during his fifth year. That was one thing she and Severus could agree on: The man had an arrogant streak a mile wide and just as deep. Of course, all that changed when James' parents were murdered in Diagon Alley. Forced to grow up, James had made peace with a lot of people. That didn't stop him from pranking the shite out of people who were racist, and or people who lived and breathed the Dark Arts.

She shuddered to think of what might have happened if Severus Prince was sorted into Slytherin, instead of Ravenclaw. And now, this is two debts she felt she owed to the scion – now Lord – of the Holmes Family. One of these days, Minerva was going to send Mycroft a letter.

There was no forgiving herself for that fateful November morning in her mind either. Just thinking about Lily and James' son being abused by those … _people_ … had her in a fit of quiet tears. "I should'a fough' 'arder fer 'im," she said in barely recognizable English, as her brogue had completely taken over.

Loud banging on her door startled her so much, that not only was she drug back to the present, but she'd also dropped (read, half flung) her snifter to shatter on the floor. Standing, she stalked to the door. She snapped out a 'What is it?' as she opened it, and was immediately guilty to find one of her third year cubs looking up at her in fear.

"Professor!" Lee shrieked as he grabbed her hand. "Come quick!"

Yanking her hand out of the boy's grasp, Minerva was scowling. "Jordan! What the devil is the matter? One does na' pull on their professors. _Explain_ yerself at once!"

"Sorry, Professor," Lee mumbled. It was interesting how this was happening again. He so hoped that wouldn't continue now that he was the literal voice of the Quidditch pitch. "Please come while I try to explain. It's _important_."

Lips pursed, Minerva nodded. "Oh, very well." Following the most hyper lion of her Griffs, she quickly cast a sobriety charm over herself when he wasn't looking. "What has you all in a tizzy, Mr. Jordan?"

"We're gonna need the bobbies for this…" Lee began, startling his head of house. His incessant babble was just as hard to understand as Minerva's brogue when she was on a tear.


	5. Night of Honour (Part II)

_**"HP: Potterlock" AU  
'The Case of the Stone'  
**__Chapter Five  
- Night of Honour (Part II) -_

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I don't own squat, save for the plot._

_Second half... Finally. The majority of the next chapter is already written, and should be up in a couple of days._

* * *

Albus stood in the Headmaster's Office, staring at the shelf that held all the monitoring devices that used to be keyed to Harry… _Harold_, he thought with a frown. While he had repaired them seven years ago, the blood ward monitor's detonation made it impossible to properly track the lad. His eyes flicked to the softly glowing crystal of the life monitor and scowled.

That little bauble cost him a bag of galleons, and all it could do was glow. It would only go dark if the boy died, but that was all it did. He counted himself lucky in having that much. When the wards fell, the shrapnel from the spinning monitor ripped through the rest of the devices.

While he was able to repair them, they were unable to do anything since they were no longer keyed to the boy. Albus did attempt to link them through the goblin crystal life monitor. However, the act of doing so severely dimmed the stone, and had broken off the attempt. No sense in losing the only device that actually worked after all.

He should have paid more attention to the letter, he thought with a frown. Unfortunately, Fawks had an early burning day, distracting him and had never gotten back to it. "Damn that boy," he muttered.

Turning, he flicked the ward that controlled the shutters on the owlery. It wouldn't do to have tonight's fiasco in the papers. "No. It wouldn't do at all."

"Problems Albus?" a voice said from behind him. The smugness coming from the tone of voice was one that had the old wizard cringing. "Far be it from me to say I told you so, but I _**definitely**_ told you so." The folding tear that acted as the mouth twisted into a smirk.

Turning, Dumbledore glared at the sorting hat. "Be _silent_ Orin!"

"Temper, temper, Headmaster," the hat chided. "The only one you have to blame about how tonight went, is that daft old wizard you see in the mirror."

Petulantly, Albus flicked a _silencio_ at the hat. There was a moment's pause, while the tip of the hat tilted to the side a bit, incredulous. "Repeating the same action and expecting a different result is a sign of either madness or senility," the hat lectured. "I am the Voice of Hogwarts. You can neither silence, mutilate, banish, vanish, maim, nor burn me – _no matter how many children threaten that last one_."

Sighing heavily, the old wizard walked around his desk to take a seat. "What would you have me do, Orin? You know the prophecy." His left hand reflexively reached out and snagged a lemon drop.

"Not everyone shares your interpretation," Dippet's painting interjected. Several of the other paintings of former Headmasters nodded with him in agreement. "With that bit out of the lad, your plans are for naught."

"I won't let him go dark," Albus mumbled around the candy. He was responsible for Riddle's descent, and didn't want to make the same mistake again with Potter. The thought of those two joining forces gave him nightmares.

The hat chuckled. "That boy is more neutral than anything else. Ruthless yes, but neutral in his views. And that's all I'll say on the matter."

Slumping in his chair, the old wizard sighed. "That's even worse." With the boy's Lordship, Dumbledore lost his proxy seat for the Potter votes. They were undoubtedly in Lord Holmes hands now, which was a disaster. With them, Albus could maintain the quasi peace between the moderates, traditionalists and progressives. The Potter votes would tip the scales into the progressives' hands, as a lot of the moderates followed them.

Then there was the Black votes. Proxied by the Lady Malfoy due to the Head of the House of Black being in prison, their loss would be good for the moderates. Unfortunately, with the young Head of House Potter bringing Lord Black's situation to light, one didn't have to guess as to where those votes would be going as well.

There were times when he hated politics.

The only thing left for him now, was to become more aggressive in the Wizengamot. That was for tomorrow though. He was more than a touch exhausted from the evening's "festivities". Right now he needed a bath, then the sweet bliss of sleep.

Thankfully missing from the storm of the evening would have been either Severus' or Minerva's nearly patented screaming rants. Of course, as soon as that thought crossed his mind he'd jinxed himself. The door monitor chimed before the oaken door slammed inward.

"ALBUS!"

"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster lamented. At least he could understand this one without mentally diving into the Scottish Burr. "My night is complete," he whispered. Sitting back in his chair, he resigned himself to a scathing earful… all the while pointedly ignoring the chuckles of the sorting hat.

* * *

The headquarters of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was abuzz with activity. Director Bones had pulled in the most trusted of her Aurors, and had sent six of them to Azkaban. Getting Lord Black out of that hellhole was the main focus. She didn't know if he was innocent or not, _despite_ what Lord Potter said, but the man didn't deserve to be there without a trial.

No one did.

Finding a note from the joint litigation team of Brighton and Tonks added a bit of paperwork, but shortened her search for Lord Potter's legal counsel. A quick floo call had Theodore Tonks in her office with a stack of forms. The predatory gleam in his eyes was unusual for him, and Amelia called him on it.

"Normally, litigators and solicitors would be rather aggressive in situations like these, but I don't remember a time when I've seen that look on you Ted," she remarked.

Brow raised, he explained his countenance with a simple statement. "You've forgotten to whom I'm married, Director."

It took her two seconds to make the connection. "Ah. Yes, of course," she nodded. "Well, I think Andromeda _would_ have a stake in this."

"I've been getting earfuls almost nightly since being handed the casework a month ago," Ted explained with a touch of lament in his voice. "Might be more involved after Dowager Longbottom catches wind of things, though."

That comment brought her up short. "Alice?"

Nodding, Ted was offhanded with his remark. "Interesting how both godparents of Lord Potter were rendered incapable, don't you think?"

There was a bit of a pause while that thought sank in, which was broken by the green flash of an incoming floo call. Seeing who it was made Amelia conclude that the DMLE stock of pepper up would take a severe hit this evening.

* * *

A sharp crack resonated in Hogsmeade, heralding the arrival of one rather tired and pissed off lycanthrope. His repetitious apparition from the southern peninsula to Scotland scaled back his rage to a dull simmering. Had he been thinking more clearly, he would've gone to Cardiff to floo to London, then Hogsmeade. Regardless, wearing himself out like he did enabled him to focus.

By the time he took a room at the Three Broomsticks, he talked himself out of biting Albus. That didn't mean there wouldn't be hexings going on, though. That old wanker left Padfoot to rot, while Wormtail got a posthumous Order of Merlin, for pity's sake. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he was damned if this was going to be left alone. His pack was annihilated and his cub threatened. _Someone_ was going to be a chew toy!

Okay, he was still considering nibbling on the grizzled old bastard. Sighing, he fell back onto the rented bed and attempted sleep as his joints were killing him. Had he known about the coming confrontation in the castle, things would've been even more difficult.

* * *

After a solid thirty minutes of verbal abuse towards his boss, _to which there was hardly a response_, Severus flooed to the family manor from his access in his own quarters. His aggravation had been temporarily sated from the scathing words that caused most of the paintings to vacate their frames, but he was far from happy.

Honestly, he was rather thankful and proud of himself that he hadn't pulled his wand on the senile old man. Dumbledore might be old, but his wand hand was still surprisingly fast.

Coming into the main sitting room, his deep navy blue robes flowing behind his rapid gate, his earlier estimates over the control of his emotions fell rapidly. Mycroft was sitting with Sherlock over a glass of bourbon. That part wasn't what had his hackles up, though. What did, was when his little brother saw him; stood; then smirked that insufferable _'I know more than you'_ look of his.

The next thing Sherlock knew, he was spun flat on his back and rubbing his chin with his left hand. It was fortuitous that he'd set down his drink, because none of it was wasted. Blinking rapidly, he looked up at his brother and nodded. "That was a good one, Sven."

"Ten Years!" Severus roared, half bent over to glare at him. "Ten _years_ of not knowing what happened, and seven of which you told me _nothing_! Did you honestly think I didn't want to know what happened to Lily's and James' child?"

Frowning even though it was hilarious, Mycroft clunked his tumbler on the side table rather loudly. "Sit _down_ Severus," he ordered.

"Fuck you, Mycroft. You can go straight to Hell with Nick in your boot," Severus seethed.

Sitting up, Sherlock commented on the byplay. "And there's the Spinners' Accent we tried so hard to eradicate from you." The rather rapid wand tip between his eyes silenced his follow-up barb, which included his brother's propensity for cheap scotch.

"Oh, _do_ put that away and let Sherlock have his chair back," Mycroft scolded as he summoned another glass. Facing Severus' harsh glare himself caused Mycroft to look down his nose at him, before he wandlessly shoved their irate brother onto the settee.

Only after he put his wand away, _and had one and a half glasses of rather smooth bourbon that slid down effortlessly_, did Severus finally ask the question. "I want you two to explain yourselves thoroughly, or I'll have myself arrested for turning the both of you inside out."

Sherlock's inelegant snort didn't alleviate the situation. Mycroft gave him a chastising look before turning to their brother. "And I want you to calm down and think rationally for a moment. At the time, none of us had a claim on Harold's Guardianship."

"You think I wouldn't have been able to keep a secret?" Severus asked rather loudly, incredulous over either of them thinking such a thing.

"While I have no doubt that you can keep a closed mouth on certain things," Sherlock said in a low voice, "what do you think you would have done, had you known the state of Harold's treatment by the remainders of the Evans family?"

Pausing at that, Severus rubbed his hand through his short hair and reviewed the list of curses he would have liked to have used on that horse-faced bitch… _then there was Albus_. "You may have a point," he drawled.

"The likelihood that you would have done nothing is far too remote to have even considered including you in the deception," Mycroft said gently. "As it is, at most we'll get a fine for not filing the proper paperwork, as well as having to deal with the MCS."

"Magical Child Services?" Severus asked. Getting two nods, he rolled his eyes. "They are probably tripping over themselves, trying to outmanoeuvre each other into who _doesn't_ have to make the interviews."

"Now that Harold has claimed his inheritance, he can live wherever he damn well pleases," Sherlock said with a grin. "How's that anger coming?"

"Simmering," Severus hissed.

Mycroft nodded. "Point it at Dumbledore. If he's lucky, he'll either still be headmaster by this time tomorrow or will have been quietly retired."

Brow up, Severus was honestly curious. "And if not?"

"Then he'll be spending his retirement with the Dementors for Medi-Witches," Sherlock said with a predatory look.

"Hopefully in Sirius' old cell," Mycroft commented with a grin.

Sherlock nodded. "Excellent point."

* * *

Lucius had gone home to discover that his wife had heard everything on the wireless. Apparently, she had a floo call from her ostracised sister, alerting her to it. He would have been surprised by their even talking to each other, but the night had enough alarming things happen that it slid off him.

Later, as they were retiring for the evening, he noticed his wife fumbling with the buttons on her nightdress. "How are the joints?" he asked softly as he helped her with it.

"Sore as normal," she said with a touch of resignation.

"You made sure that there's enough of a batch for tomorrow, yes?" he asked for what had to be the hundredth time. It had been so long, that this was as much a ritual as anything else these days.

Narcissa nodded. "Yes dear, and I promise that I haven't played with the recipe, no matter how much a newer version is needed."

"I'd rather go with what works," Lucius said as he helped her into the bed.

She smiled sadly and palmed his face. Their kiss was gentle before he went to the other side of the bed. After they were both settled, she tried very hard to not think about the next evening.

She so _hated_ the full moon.

* * *

Led into the Gryffindor Common Room, (they had met Filius on his way to his quarters) the two Heads of House were alarmed at the bedlam they discovered. There was a full on Weasley Row between four of the redheads, at a volume that would do their mother proud. Interestingly enough, the twins didn't do their usual bouncing style of speech. They were too busy speaking at once the entire time instead.

And, it had started rather quiet too. That is, until Ron's temper exploded. Percy had been playing it rather cool until then. That was the point when the rest of the house was roused by four young men screaming at each other. None of them had thought of silencing the stairwells.

For their part, the twins were biding their time until McGonagall arrived. Insults flew from their lips from Ron's eating habits and greed, to Percy's backside's status as a wand holster. For everyone that was watching them, this was the first time they'd ever seen the twins truly pissed off.

Percy was shouting out detentions when their head of house arrived – which is when the wands came out.

George shouted, "_Accio Scabbers_!"

While the rat was in the air, it was hit by Fred's "_Stupify_."

George finished his part by deftly catching the rat like an errant snitch in his left hand, then summarily stunned his rushing and enraged younger brother, while Fred ensconced Percy with ropes and hit him with a _"silencio."_

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" McGonagall shouted at the top of her lungs.

Surprisingly, neither twin flinched. Looking at their Head of House, they restarted their back and forth form of speech.

"Do you remember-"

"-how you gave us detention-"

"-for us calling you 'Miss Kitty'?"

Scowling at them, Minerva nodded stiffly.

"May we introduce-"

"-your most feline self-"

"-to 'Mr. Rat'," they intoned together while George held up said mammal.

"Do you know-"

"-of a way to reverse-"

"-or restore-"

"-an Animagus?" they ended together.

Blinking, Minerva's eyes widened. "Put it on the floor and step back." After they did so, she incanted a detection spell that caused the rat to glow. Outraged, she nearly hissed out the animagus reversal. The body they were left with caused both Heads of House to swear; one in Gaelic, the other in Goblin. Filius was quicker than Minerva, and restunned the newly revealed Peter Pettigrew, then petrified and incarcerated him with ropes.

The mutterings from either stairwell caused Minerva to glare left and right. "Everyone back to bed!" Seeing the twins move, she added a bit kinder. "No, Messrs Weasley. You two remain here."

Leaving Ron stunned and Percy bound, McGonagall retrieved a small pouch of floo powder from her robes. Dusting the small fire in the hearth, she called out, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Director's Office!"

* * *

Blinking at Minerva McGonagall's face in the floo, Amelia was a touch in shock. "I'm sorry, Minerva, could you repeat that?"

Calming herself, Minerva tried to reign in her brogue. "As I said, Hogwarts requires a team of investigators. The Messrs Weasley, the matching pair that is, apprehended Peter Pettigrew."

Amelia looked at Ted, who was just as flabbergasted, before turning back to the floo. "Forgive me. That was what I thought you said. I'll have my two best Aurors accompany me. We should be there in half an hour."

"Be sure to bring shackles that inhibit an animagus transformation," Minerva interjected before ending the call. "It would appear that Mr. Pettigrew is an Unregistered 'Rat' Animagus."

"How appropriate," Ted deadpanned.

* * *

_**A/N2:** Point of note, September 2nd of 2001 was a full moon. I'm rather surprised that it fit in with the story so well. And yes, you should be concerned about Remus._

_Ta!_


End file.
